


The World Of Hetalia

by RussianDaddy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianDaddy/pseuds/RussianDaddy





	1. Introduction

Sometimes I wonder if alternate worlds exist.  
I've always wished so, but then I think to myself, what's the point?. How would reaching these other worlds even be possible? Magic? Machinery? Would you need to be in the right place at the right time, or would a strange messenger come forth and decree that you are a chosen one?  
I've read the stories, seen the movies where these scenarios play out. While interesting, logic dictates that these things don't happen. If they have, then someone certainly isn't talking. Moreover, the people lucky enough to be central to these plots are generally attractive and quick on the uptake. They take to these 'time-travel/alternate universe/chosen one destinies like they were born to it. Essentially, they're everything that I'm not.  
I don't have the courage to take the lead. I'd much rather follow someone else than have that responsibility. With the exception of languages (though I worked really hard and spent a lot of free time in that regard), I'm fairly average in intelligence. . I'm too shy to speak in front of strangers (and friends, too, depending) and I'd much rather stay in my room. I channel the introversion like a pro. I'm not a stand-out in looks, either, being one of many Caucasian females with blue eyes and long-ish brown hair. I could stand to lose some weight, as some like to point out. The only things, I think, that single me out are my breasts. They're rather sizable, but that doesn't mean much in today's world. All in all, I'm a uninspiring individual, a small-town college student who dreams of...more.  
There is only one person who accepts me, flaws and all: Maura.  
I met Maura during my freshman year of high school. As far as first impressions went, my opinion of the new girl from Germany didn't rate very high. Everything about her was wild. Everything from her riotously curly hair to her megawatt smile, her staggering height of 5"8, her piercing brown eyes, and her huge breasts screamed, look at me! Everyone she came in contact with seemed to like her. Except me.  
I found her too loud for my tastes and it just didn't help that I don't like people in general. For awhile, it seemed that the only thing I found we had in common, was our breast size. However, she was persistent to get me to open up and like her. Every day when I would walk through the school doors, I would see her waiting for me. When she would notice me, she'd give a smile that made it seem like I was the most important person there. And start talking my ear off.  
But because she was spending so much time with me, the other students started ignoring her and even being harsh to her. I guess you could call it my fault, since I was the weird kid at school that nobody liked. Eventually, I was the only person who talked to her, besides the teachers. She never let it bother her though. She just kept on smiling and spent her time with me.  
After that, she ended up growing on me and we've been inseparable ever since. She was three years ahead of me, so when she graduated, I was lonely at school. But every day when I got home, she would be there. Both of us are going to the same college together and we help each other study. Also, she is teaching me German on the side. She says I'm doing very well for someone who isn't a native speaker. Along with learning German, I'm teaching myself Russian. I know a lot of people don't seek out to learn it, but I've always found something sexy about the language.  
We might have different personalities and different tastes on some things, but we do have one thing in common. We both love anime. Neither of us is generally picky when it comes to watching anime, unless it just doesn't grasp our attention. While Maura's favorite anime is Ouran High School Host Club, mine is Hetalia: Axis Powers.  
I love Hetalia. It is my absolute favorite anime. I've seen all of the seasons multiple times, I have all of the plushy dolls, I've got several posters hanging up on my bedroom walls, and you wouldn't believe how much fanfiction I've read about it. Maura also likes it, but not on the same level as me.  
I suppose if I had to pick a place I had to be transported to; it would be the world of Hetalia. I'd have to say, I might just have a heart attack if I was able to meet my favorite characters and be able to talk and interact with them. I would be able to have a cup of tea with England, make pasta with the Italian brothers, play videogames with America, watch anime with Japan, and be able to sit and talk with Canada or have a good laugh with Prussia. It would be dream come true for me. But that is what it all is, isn't it? It's all just a dream.  
Sadly, the likely hood of that happening is nonexistent. And it is simply because things like that do not happen. Or at least they do not happen to people like me. It's not supposed to happen to people like me.  
My birthday is tomorrow. And I'm in for a day I will forever remember.


	2. Birthday

**_Sarah's POV_ **

  
"You have to let me do something for your birthday, Sarah!"  
I hold my phone away from my ear as Maura's voice shrills through the receiver. The girl sure does have some lungs on her. The reason she seems so upset it that tomorrow is my birthday and I don't want to do anything for it. I never do, so I see no reason for her to be surprised every year. I see my birthday as just another day of the year. I personally do not see what the big hype is all about it. Besides, it just reminds me that I'm another year older. Getting older sucks.  
"We have this conversation every year," I say into the mouthpiece, as I pick up the Xbox controller I had discarded earlier when she had called me. I settle my cellphone between the crook of my neck and shoulder as I un-pause the game of Skyrim I had been playing. "Besides, we both know you are just going to plan something anyway."  
Maura may not be the stereotypical German most days, but when her mind is set on something (such as my hypothetical enjoyment), then she goes full-blown Hitler. I sometimes have to resist the urge to Sieg Heil her. No, really.  
"You really should care more about your birthday. You don't turn twenty every year, my darling. Also, I have received your present earlier today and I have a feeling you are going to love it! However, you are not getting it if you don't let me plan something special for you," she threatens. I can hear her smugness through the phone.  
I sigh deeply and pinch the bridge of my nose before I respond. "Fine"  
"JA!" she manages to squeal over the phone before I hang up on her. I sigh again and think about what I've just gotten myself into. Hopefully, it's not a big deal like last year. That one involved us accidentally breaking into the zoo. I don't know how we even managed the "accidental" part, but I'm still pretty sure I don't want a repeat of it.  
No longer able to concentrate on my game; I save it before turning it off. I get up from my bed and place the game controller on top of a pile of video games that are settled next to my T.V. I go back and lie across my bed and examine the different posters plastered to my ceiling.  
Speaking of my ceiling and my room in general, well. It's a bit on the small side, with space only big enough to fit in my full-sized bed, my small entertainment center, and a small dresser. On my entertainment center, I have books and video games stacked up on top of each other right next to my 24-inch flat screen TV. On the floor in front of it is my Xbox 360. My walls are plastered with anime posters to the point where I can't see the violet color of the walls. The posters I mentioned on my ceiling range from Bleach, to InuYasha, to Fullmetal Alchemist, to Hetalia, and many more. I tend to stay in my room a lot, as I don't like to associate myself with the rest of the family. I care about my family, don't get me wrong, but I'd rather keep to myself.  
The conversation I just had crosses over my mind. I heave a sigh as I think about what she might have planned. I sit up and run my fingers through my hair. I wince as my fingers get caught on a couple of knots. I climb out of bed and I plug in my phone so it can charge. It lights up, showing 11:50 P.M. I then walk over to my dresser and pull out a clean purple nightgown and underwear. Heading out of my room, I walk towards the bathroom to take my nightly shower. When I enter, I put my clothes on the counter, and then I warm up the water in the shower to the right temperature.  
As I take off my clothes, I notice myself in the mirror hanging above the sink. My hair is unkempt, and giving off an unhealthy shine. The bags under my eyes give off the impression that I look like I haven't slept in days. Probably because I actually haven't. It's hard to sleep when you've been reading really good fan fiction. My skin is too pale and looks as if it's never seen the light of day. I look down at my stomach and glare, hoping that if I stare at it long enough, the fat will flee from my body in terror. Eventually, I give up looking at myself and venture into the shower.  
Once I'm finished, I dry off and put on my underwear and my nightgown, which goes down to my knees. Once I'm back in my room, I look at my phone to see if there were any new notifications while I was occupied. After a quick glance, I notice that I didn't get anything, but the clock now says 12:15 A.M. Well, it looks like I'm twenty, now. I put my phone down and I turn off my bedroom lights, getting ready for bed. Before I fall asleep, the last thing I think thinking about is how I really am not looking forward to what Maura has planned for me.

* * *

 

**_Maura's POV_ **

  
"Hello. You've reached Sarah Bourgeois. I can't come to the phone right now, so please leave your name and num–"  
I hit the end button with a bit more force then needed. I shove my phone into my picket and give a glare at the door that is in front of me. I'm currently standing outside of my friend Sarah's house and I can't get in. The door is locked tighter than a virgin wearing a Chasity belt.  
I adjust the gift I'm holding in the crook of my arm, before banging my fist against the door. Again.  
"Sarah!" I call out. "Open the door!" I give a few more good bangs (Ha!) before I step back and wait. When it seems that my cries go unheard, I give a loud curse, "Verdammt!"  
Seeing as I won't be able to get in that way, I make my way around to the back of the house to see if the back door is unlocked. When I get to it, I turn the knob, but it's locked. I give a growl of frustration before I try knocking on the door. Sadly, it seems that I won't be getting in through this way either.  
"Great…," I mutter to myself. "Fan-fucking-tastic." I start to make my way back to the front.  
On my trek back, I notice that one of the windows that leads in to the living room, is slightly open. It only takes a few seconds before I rush over to it and begin to lift it. Halfway up, it gets jammed. I growl in frustration as I try to make it move, at least a couple more inches. My efforts are in vain, as it refuses to budge.  
I step away from the window and examine the gap. I contemplate on whether or not I should try to squeeze through. Hell yeah I'm going to do it. I toss Sarah's gift in first and it lands a couple of feet away from the window. I crawl in head first and I manage to get my torso through. I plant my hands firmly onto the floor and I try to pull the rest of my body through. However, I can't.  
It seems that my ass is too big to fit all the way through. Of all the times it had to get in the way. Not giving up, I wiggle my hips and try to pull myself in. Slowly, but surely, I' managing to get in the house. I'm almost all the way through, when I accidentally hit the window with the heel of my foot and hear the sound of glass cracking. I land on the floor and quickly pull myself up. I turn around to examine the damage and I see a giant crack on the window.  
"Opps," I whisper out. I'll need to remember to pay for that. Good news is, I'm finally inside the house. Now I can go find Sarah. With that in mind, I pick up her gift and go to her room.  
Thankfully, her bedroom door is unlocked and I let myself in. I find her curled up in bed, hair splayed out across her pillow, and looking almost like Sleeping Beauty. No wonder she wasn't answering my calls or coming to do that door. She was asleep!  
I set her present on her entrainment center before seating myself on her bed next to her. She should know better than to sleep in when she knows I'm coming over. A smile twists itself onto my face as I loom over her. I begin to shake her lightly, as to coax her awake.  
It doesn't take long before she gives out a slight groan and her eyelids flutter open. She takes a couple of seconds to collect her bearings, before her eyes settle on me. She blinks before I see shock and terror cross her face. I'm feeling the giddiness of having scared her, when suddenly; her fist is in my face.  
"BITCH!" I shout out. I fall back and land on the floor with a thump. I hold my hands to my face as I feel the sting. "Why the fuck did you punch me?!"  
"You scared the fuck out of me!" She yells back. "You don't do that to people who are sleeping! It was only natural for me to punch you! It's called a reflex!"  
"Up yours," I say, not quite seriously, as I pick myself up off the floor. I then proceed to flop onto her bed.  
We sit in silence for a few moments before we hear her phone go off. She picks up her phone and examines it, giving off a small smile as she reads, from what I can assume, a text. She types in a quick response before setting it back down.  
"I didn't realize I slept so late," she mumbles out.  
"Yeah, well. You should. Do you know how long I stood outside, waiting for you to answer the door?" I demand at her.  
A sorrowful look crosses her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…wait," she trails off and her face changes from sorrowful to confused, "how did you get into the house, then?"  
Shit, I think to myself. "I may have climbed through your living room window. And I may have damaged it," I tell her reluctantly.  
She sighs. "I can't believe you broke my window."  
"I did not break it! I just slightly damaged it. Besides, I'll pay to fix it!"  
"I thought all your money went towards your comic book collection?"  
"It does, but now I'll have to make an exception."  
She stares at me with a raised eyebrow, but doesn't comment. Twenty-two years old and I still collect comic books. She shouldn't be judging, though, with the way she collects manga.  
She gives off another sighs as she throws the blankets off of her. "So what are we doing, then?" she asks. "You said you were planning on doing something for me today."  
I give her a creepy smile. Oh, is going to be surprised with what I have in store for her! I see her tense up in anticipation.  
"We are going to stay here at your house and watch the present I got for you!" I inform her.  
She stares at me with a look of disbelief on her face. "Seriously?"  
I nod. "Completely. I started thinking last night that maybe one year without any crazy stuff going on for your birthday is acceptable. Also, I couldn't really think of anything to do," I say with a shrug of my shoulders.  
"So what is my present I keep hearing about?" She asks me as she starts to relax.  
I get up from my spot and retrieve her gift. "I spent good money on this, so hopefully you'll like it," I tell her.  
I place it into her hands and take back my seat. She stares at the gift for a moment before she slowly starts unwrapping it. When the wrapping paper is out of the way, she opens the box and she peers inside. I hear her gasp and a hug smile cross her face. "Oh, my God! You actually got me this?!"  
I give a triumphant smile as I look at her expression. "Hell, yes. When I saw it, I knew I had to get it for you."  
As she takes it out of the box, my smile gets bigger as I examine her. Pure joy is etched onto her face and it makes me happy that I was able to do that. She holds up the DVD collection I got her and Hetalia: The Beautiful World is written happily on the cover.  
"We have to watch it now!" she exclaims. I give her an excited nod in agreement. "Yay!" She squeals happily before rushing over to her TV to start preparing the set up. As she is setting it up, I settle myself more firmly on her bed. Once she is done, she grabs the remote and settles herself beside me, her head resting on my shoulder. "You ready for this?" she asks.  
"Play it," I instruct her with a grin. She smiles at me as she presses play. It doesn't take us long for us to start laughing and getting into it. It's so funny! Especially when Germany mistook Italy's feelings for him as love. I was laughing so hard, I was having trouble breathing.  
About halfway through the show, I notice that the TV starts to act weird. Every time one of the characters would speak, a loud ripping noise could be heard. It was really odd and distracting, since we couldn't hear what the characters were saying. After a while, the ripping noise started playing throughout the rest of the season, and it kept getting louder to the point where we eventually couldn't watch the episodes. We stop the DVD.  
Once the TV is off, we glance at each other. I feel a rush of anger take over me.  
"I paid good money for this, and it turned out to be a goddamn dud!" I then turn to her with an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I'll buy you a new one, and I'll make sure to test it first to see if it works."  
"Thanks, but you don't have to go through the trouble of buying me a new one. I can get it myself," she tells me.  
I just shake my head at her. "No. I bought it for you, for your BIRTHDAY, so I'll buy you a new one to make up for it."  
I stare intently at her before she finally caves in. I beam at her. As she gives me one in return, we hear the stupid ripping noise again. We look towards the TV and notice that it had turned back on.  
"Did you turn the TV back on?" she asks me hesitantly.  
I shake my head at her. I see her open her mouth to say something, but I suddenly start to feel really dizzy. I feel a rush of panic overtake me, wondering what is going on. Then fear replaces and I try to call out to Sarah. Before I can cry out to her, my world goes black.


	3. Just Another Meeting

_**Meanwhile, during an G8 meeting...** _

  
"Get the hell off me, you bloody frog!"  
"Dude, Iggy, relax. He's just touching your shoulder. Haha!"  
"It doesn't matter! I don't want him touching me!"  
"Ohonhonhon, you know you secretly like it when I touch you."  
"That is not true!"  
"Ve~ England looks like a tomato! That is so cute!"  
"Dude, Italy, you're right! Ha, he looks like he's about to blow, or something! That would be so cool!"  
"Oh, mon Cheri, is it I who is making you this way? If so, I know a few ways we can settle this matter...privately."  
"Get away from me!"  
"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!"  
All heads turn toward the German who had shouted, and silence immediately follows. This is a common occurrence at the monthly G8 meetings. Every time the countries meet up, France begins immediately to harass England; England becomes upset; America stirs the pot by egging England on; Italy makes a comment about the situation, and things just get worse from there; Japan refrains from speaking and simply watches the madness unfold with interest; Russia sits with a smile on his face as he holds his metal pipe, looking as if he's about to use it on one of the noisier nations; poor Canada is ignored as usual, so he imitates Japan and quietly observes everyone. Eventually Germany grows impatient with all the useless yelling, and so he brings everything back to order, but unfortunately, the peace never lasts.  
Today is one of those days. It is an especially bad day for Germany, who hadn't slept the previous night due to last-minute paperwork given to him by his boss. Plus, once he had finally finished with the paperwork, Prussia came home plastered and upended the contents of his stomach all over the kitchen floor. And who, might you ask, had to clean it up while a certain Prussian was passed out on the couch covered in his own vomit? Why, Germany. By the time he finished cleaning, it was already 5:30 A.M, which was the time that he normally wakes up. Long story short, nobody wants to cross Germany today.  
"For once, can we just get through a meeting quietly?! Why must you all insist on wasting this time on useless nonsense when we need to be focusing on our international affairs?"  
"Yo, Germany, why don't you chill out? This is normal. I don't see what the big deal is," America says as he slurps on his milkshake.  
"I agree with America-san." Japan finally breaks his vow of silence.  
England, who managed to get away from France, walks over to stand beside America as he addresses the German. "He's right, you know. Even though these things do tend to happen, we always manage to get things done."  
"That's not the point," snaps Germany. "We shouldn't have to go through this every single time we hold a meeting."  
"Ve~ but Germany! You also say this every time! So nothing is new here!" Italy exclaims proudly, attempting to be helpful. He genuinely thinks it's the smart thing to do.  
"I do not think you are helping the situation, da?" says Russia to Italy as he gestures toward a red-faced Germany. Italy, realizing his error, panics and tries to calm his friend down.  
"I'm sorry! Of course things are changing! All your suggestions work, and we always listen to you! Please don't annihilate me! I will make you pasta and maybe we can even eat those disgusting sausages you like so much! Just please don't hurt me! I have relatives in Berlin!" Italy shouts, frantically flailing his arms everywhere. He then proceeds to hide behind a chair.  
Germany sighs and rubs his temples, not even bothering with a reply to Italy, for whom such behaviors were a natural occurrence. He wishes that everything would run smoothly for once. No delays, no stupid arguments over things that didn't matter, no yelling, just progress. As he's trying to calm his temper before he even considers addressing anyone, America suddenly remembers that Russia is in the same room as him. Even though the Russian has not said a word to him during the whole ordeal, he doesn't care for the way Russia is smiling.  
"Why are you smiling, Commie?! I don't like the way it looks!" he demands as he points a finger at the Russian.  
Russia glances at the American, but his expression doesn't change. "I always smile when I'm around everyone. It makes me happy to see everyone so lively."  
"Well, stop it! It's really creepy!" orders America.  
"I do not find it creepy. I smile like this normally. Maybe something is wrong with your eyes, da?"  
"My eyes are fine!" He then turns towards England and whispers, "My eyes are fine, right?"  
"Nothing is wrong with your bloody eyes, you sod! He's just making fun of you," England informs him irritably.  
Canada, who has been quiet all this time, watches the scene unravel before him. He accepted long ago that people would always forget his presence, so he spends his time watching others make fools of themselves for his weird entertainment. He notices that while England is bitching at America, France has been inching his hand towards England's backside. Poor England is so focused on America that it doesn't even register until it is too late as France grabs a handful of British ass.  
"AHH! YOU SODDIN' WANKER!" England then directs the force of his fury to France and begins administering a few good smacks to the face. America, now free of England, goes reverts to harassing Russia about his smile, then gets sidetracked and starts talking about how burgers are better than Russian food. Canada then turns his attention to Germany. The man was sitting at the head of the table, still rubbing his temples in a desperate need to calm himself. The poor guy looks so stressed, and he is. From what Canada could understand, Germany always spent his time making plans and working and just being a plain bore. It seems like the guy doesn't even know the definitions of "relax" or "fun." Canada ponders that Germany seriously needs to get a girlfriend or maybe just to get laid; it might calm the man down some.  
Canada is stroking Kumajiro's fur when he notices that there is absolutely no sound in the room. He looks up and realizes that everyone is staring at him with dropped jaws, especially Germany, whose face is the picture of embarrassment. At first he doesn't understand why, but then the revelation strikes. Horror dawns. He actually said that Germany needed to get laid. Out loud! Of all the times for people to pay attention to him, it had to be now! Poor Canada is so mortified that he can't do anything but apologize.  
"I-I'm sorry...I didn't mean to say that.." he whispers out.  
"No, wait. He has a point. Maybe Germany does need to get laid," America announces bluntly.  
"Ohonhonhonhon, well. If that is the case, then I am more than welcome to help our dear friend, for I am the country of love, after all," France offers.  
"That's a great idea!" exclaims Italy. "As long as I've known Germany, I've never seen him with a girl or even filrt with one! Maybe he just doesn't know how, so we can teach him!"  
"Or maybe he's into men," England muses.  
"NEIN! I do not need your help with something like that, and who said I needed a girlfriend?!" Germany asks accusingly, but they all ignore him and start discussing what their next course of action should be. He pauses, then states, "Besides, if anyone needs to get laid, it's Russia...think about it."  
The room grows quiet again. The countries take in this piece of information, process it, then begin to murmur in unison. Russia, despite being generally sweet-natured, was a singularly terrifying individual. They all agreed silently that everyone would probably benefit from a happier, preoccupied Russia.  
The person in question looked about the room, a surprised smile on his face, but sadness in his eyes. "I'm honored that you would consider me thus, da? But who would want to be with me anyway? It's not like a girl is just going to fall out of the sky."  
While everyone is distracted by this new turn of events, a hole appeared in the ceiling, growing bigger and bigger. If they were to look up into it, all they would see is black. They would also see a bright shape hurtling towards them from above. But they didn't even notice, so it came as a surprise to all when the screaming started and a girl fell onto Russia's lap.


	4. I'm Where?

_**Sarah's POV** _

  
The last thing I can remember before falling asleep is sitting with Maura on my bed. After that, the only detail I can conjure up is the feeling of falling and the sound of people arguing, and then...darkness. Upon waking, my head spins and I begin wishing that the people would just shut the hell up. The moment I think I'm going to be sick, there's a flare of white light, blinding me. When I open my eyes again, I see that I'm above a room, a conference room. Nothing special about it, really, except that it was filled with people, and I was hurtling towards it. With the fear of crashing and possibly dying on my mind, I shriek as I fall into the room, landing on top of someone.  
Now, you think that when you land on top of someone, that person would be soft enough to cushion the blow. Not this guy. Whoever I landed on couldn't have been human, as their body is too hard for any normal person. It's like I landed on a rock, and it fucking hurt. My whole body was aching from the impact. Being too dizzy and sore, I'm oblivious to the identities of the people around me, as well the fact that they became quiet.  
As I'm trying to clear my head, the body underneath me starts to shift, and someone makes a grunting noise. When I finally looked down, all I see is purple. Beautiful purple eyes that are reminiscent of a field of blooming violets in the height of spring.  
As I'm peering into them, those eyes turn cold and chill my blood. The next thing I know, I'm picked up as if I weight nothing and placed firmly away from the person in question. All I see is a pair of brown boots as he pushes himself to a stand before me. I blink my eyes a couple of times and shake my head before I look up at the man who had broken my fall. As I look up to thank him for doing so, I realize who's standing in front of me. I freeze.  
"Who are you, and how did you get here?" he asks with a stern look that is so very unfamiliar.  
I was only able to manage two words before I ended up passing out from pure shock.  
"No way."

* * *

_**Maura's POV** _

Where am I? I feel warm and whatever I'm cocooned in is extremely cozy. I open my eyes and sit up, realizing that I'm in a bedroom. The bed I'm laying in is extremely soft and rather big. Maybe even king-sized? Very comfortable, in any case. Studying the room, I note that it's decorated in hues of red and black. To most people, this would seem kind of creepy, but I like it. I think it has character. The room is able to hold the bed, a large dresser, and a desk comfortably and still have room to walk without bumping into anything. There are two doors, one that I assume leads to a bathroom.  
I pull the covers back and get out of the bed. When my feet hit the floor, I find plush carpet between my toes. This discovery causes me look down at my feet and realize that not only am I barefooted, but I'm also only wearing the nightgown from the night before. Feeling exposed, I walk over to the dresser, praying that there is something I could wear.  
The top drawer yields nothing, so I open the next only to see that it, too, is empty. I go through two more before I give up and assume that I won't find anything helpful. Must be a guest room, then, I think to myself. I go to the door that I hope leads to a bathroom. Opening it, I discover that I guessed correctly. The bathroom is decent. It has a toilet in the corner and a big egg-shaped tub up against the wall in facing me. The tub appears to be deep and equipped with jets. Once I'm able to take care of business, I head back into the bedroom and toward the door that leads out.  
Right when my hand touches the handle, I stop. How did I even get here? I was at home, hanging out with Maura and then... then I ended up falling on someone who looked a lot like Russia from Hetalia! But that's impossible...right? Unsure what to do, I go and sit on the bed as my mind starts racing. It just had to be a cosplay, right? But he looked so real, he even had the accent down! But Hetalia is an anime, it's not a real place, so there was no way it had been Russia...right?  
As I continue to silently freak out, there's a knock at the door. I pause. Oh, God, what should I do? Should I answer it? Before I can decide, however, the door opens and a man that looks remarkably like Italy enters, carrying a tray with what I'm assuming is tea.  
"Ah! Bella, you are awake! Everyone has been waiting for you to wake up since this morning!"  
I don't say a word as he crosses the room and sets down the tray beside me. He ignores my silence and continues keeping up a steady dialogue as he fixes me a cup of tea. On the outside, I'm sure I look calm, but inside I'm a mess. So far it seems that I really an in Hetalia, and here is sweet Italy chattering to me! Good lord, this is a dream come true. While I'm fan-girling to myself to the point of hyperventilation, I fail to notice that Italy has ceased talking and seem to be waiting for me to say something. It takes me a good minute to realize that he asked a question of me. Embarrassed, I ask him to repeat it for me.  
"What is your name, Bella?"  
"My name is Sarah. And you don't have to keep calling me beautiful," I tell him.  
"Of course you are! I wouldn't call you Bella if you weren't!" he informs me with a smile on his face. "Sarah is a beautiful name."  
I blush from the compliment and look down at my hands. No guy has called me beautiful before, so it feels nice that Italy, at least, thinks I am. He hands me my cup of tea and I take a quiet sip. While I'm drinking, I can't help but notice that he is staring at me.  
"Is something wrong?" I ask him.  
He shakes his head and just smiles at me. I quickly finish my tea, set it back on the tray, and then look up to regard him. With the smile still on his face, he grabs my hand and hoists me up from my seat on the bed.  
"Come. The others are waiting," he tells me as he starts leading me towards the bedroom door.  
"Others?" I ask uncertainly. Of course. If Italy is here then that means that the person I landed on was defiantly Russia. That means that the other countries are here as well.  
"Si! You fell on a...friend...of mine during the meeting and we want to know how you got here!" he announces as he happily drags me from the room.  
"Wait!" I exclaim, and he stops tugging on my arm. His expression is patient while he waits for me to elaborate. "I can't meet people like this!" I say as I point to my clothes. I'm barefoot, and the only thing I'm wearing is a thin nightgown that rides above my knees. Hell, I wasn't even wearing a bra. With that thought in mind, I cross my arms over my chest, hoping that it's sufficient coverage.  
"I think you look fine!" he tells me, as he pulls me through the door and out into the hallway. "I'm sure no one will mind with how you look, since you're so cute!"  
I'm too embarrassed over his compliments to realize that I was about to be dragged into something that I wasn't sure I wanted to be a part of.


	5. Meeting Your Favorite Character

**_Maura's POV_ **

  
Somehow, it appears that I have gotten myself into a rather...odd situation.  
You see, a few minutes ago I was with Sarah, my best friend. We were laughing, joking, and having a great time. Should still be there, right? Well, how do I explain the situation in which I currently find myself? Let's recount, shall we? It seems that I had passed out at some point the previous night and woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Aaaaand that's pretty much as far as I've gotten.  
Now for the kicker: waking up in a strange bed may be bad enough, but when you add the fact that there's someone else in the bed in which you find yourself, well. That's when it becomes odd, I suppose. My first thought is that maybe I had done some binge-drinking at a random bar and picked up some random stranger to do the horizontal tango in some random bed, but then I remember: I was at Sarah's house completely sober.  
Oh, God. What the fuck is behind me?  
For one thing, whoever this person is, they sure do like their cuddles. I notice for the first time since waking that I'm being intimately spooned. Secondly, the body behind mine is definitely male, if you catch my drift. And by drift, I mean 'erect penis,' there is an erect penis behind me. Oh, if Sarah could see me now, I would never hear the end of it. I squinch my eyes in preparation for the "big reveal," and I silently (but fervently) pray that the guy is at least under sixty and still in possession of most of his teeth. That isn't too much to ask, all things considered, is it?  
I turn over and come face-to-face with Italy Romano. Lovino. In the flesh. Not as an anime character, no. Flesh and blood.  
For a second, I think my heart actually stops. I'm laying next to the hottest sonofabitch in Hetalia! I know a lot of people go for Italy, and don't get me wrong, the guy is adorable, butI always found Romano sexy. By now, some would probably wonder why I'm not freaking out. The reason for this is that few things surprise me, so the fact that I ended up in what I assume is Hetalia comes as no shock. I mean, it could totally happen to anybody, so why not me?  
Back to Romano. I notice that he is fast asleep, and I smile to myself. Oh, I could so take advantage of him right now, so possessing the kind of morals that I possess, I...refrain. Since he's basically dead to the world, I know that he hasn't noticed me yet, so I take this time to study him. He's laying on his right side, facing me, which makes some of his dark hair fall onto his face. His signature stray curl is smashed against a pillow. His mouth is slightly open, and I'm so close that I can feel his breath on my face. I have to say, anime formatting doesn't even begin to do justice to the real-life version of him. He smells like rosemary, which is weird, since I always thought he would smell like tomatoes. Spain would always call him a tomato, but now I think that had more to do with Romano blushing.  
As soon as Spain crosses my mind, the bedroom door slams open and in walks Spain himself. "Wake up, my beautiful tomato! Your siesta is ov-" The smile slips off his face as soon as he spies me.  
At the same time Romano rolls over and yells, "Shut the Hell up, Bastard! I'll wake up when I want to fucking wake up!"  
Spain is still staring at me as if he didn't hear Romano. Romano, noticing that Spain is staring behind him, sits up and turns in my direction. His eyes widen when I come into view, and his face colors dramatically. It's cute when he turns red. Like a tomato. I start giggling silently to myself at the thought.  
Romano, noticing that I was presumably laughing at him, turns slightly purple and springs out of the bed. "Who are you?!" he demands while stabbing a finger in my direction.  
I stop the internal chuckling and begin to plot. I adopt an extremely wounded expression, clasp a hand to my heart, and sniff. "You don't remember me?"  
I've never seen a face so full of violent color turn completely white so quickly. "Remember you?" I think I can hear a tremor in his voice.  
I glance down at the sheets and clutch them in my hands, looking seemingly lost. "I can't believe you don't remember what happened between us." Aaaaand cue the crocodile tears! It's always been a talent. "After we made such sweet, passionate love and then you told me that you loved me? I can't believe you don't remember any of it!"  
It takes all my effort not to break character at the sight of Romano's face. This guy is freaking. Out. His mouth opens and closes a few times as he struggles to find something to say to me, all while pacing around the room. He's actually pulling hair at this point, trying to remember any of the things I just told him.  
Spain, who before had been silent, explodes in laughter. He's laughing so hard, he's holding onto his sides as tears streak down his cheeks. The sight of him destroys my composure, and I start laughing hysterically with him.  
Romano, having finally realized what was going on, stops pacing and gives us murderous glares. "That wasn't funny!" he fumes.  
Spain finally gains control of himself and walks over to the raging Italian. "I'm sorry, Amigo, but it was too funny. You should have seen your face!"  
"Yeah, sorry about that," I apologize between a fit of giggles. "I couldn't resist such a perfect opportunity."  
Romano eyes bore into mine, filled with anger. "You almost gave me a heart attack! Don't you do that. Ever. Again. Now, who the fuck are you?"  
I beam at him as I finally crawl out of his bed. "Oh, I suppose that's an easy one. I'm Maura. Maura Herboldsheimer! I'm twenty-two, and I'm originally from Berlin, Germany but I moved to the States at sixteen." I stick my hand out in greeting.  
"Ugh. Great. Not only is she an American, but she's a fucking potato, too." And the hand goes back in my pocket.  
"Ah, but if anything, I'm a sweet potato!"  
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"  
"Everything," I say with a bland expression.  
"Okay, okay, everyone calm down," Spain orders with a smile. It makes his green eyes light up. He's very handsome, I think. "Since you introduced yourself to us, it's only fair we do the same. I'm Antonio and I'm from Spain." He then turns and looks pointedly at Romano, waiting for him to follow suit.  
"Fine, you damn bastard, I'll introduce myself, but stop staring at me!" Romano then turns and looks at me with a frown. "I'm Lovino Vargas, and as you can probably tell, I'm from Italy. More specifically the southern part."  
I nod my head. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Antonio and Lovino! Let's be good friends!"  
"Si!"  
"How 'bout no! We still haven't asked her how she got into my room!"  
"What does it matter? She doesn't seem harmful, and besides you shouldn't complain about finding a beautiful woman in YOUR bed, even if nothing occurred," Spain tells him, then turns to me and gestures towards the open door. "Would you like some churros?" he asks.  
"I'd love some" I reply as I follow Spain out of the room, leaving behind a blushing Romano.


	6. Embarassment

_**Sarah's POV** _

  
As I'm being dragged down the hallway, Italy is explaining to me what happened after I had "appeared" in the conference room. Right after I passed out, everybody began freaking out and wondering how in the world (of Hetalia) I fell out of the ceiling. Girls falling from the sky isn't an everyday occurrence, it seems. Where did I come from and how did I get here? Those were the most relevant questions. A man by the name of Ludwig, I'm told, was the one who brought everything back to order. I realize just then that they were going to be using their human names around me so that their actual identities would remain secret. Anyway, after everything had settled down, a man named Ivan suggested that they bring me to his home, since the meeting was being held in Moscow (At least this explains whose house I'm currently in). Italy continues that once we arrived, I had slept for almost an entire day. They were to the point that if I didn't wake soon, the question would arise whether or not to take me to a hospital.  
"Ve~ since you are awake now, I do not think the wi'll bring you to a hospital," Italy tells me.  
His hold on my hand tightens as we near a set of double doors towards the end of a hallway. At this point, I'm extremely nervous about meeting everyone, thanks to a bad feeling in my gut. Or is it the thought of everyone seeing me in my short nightgown, barefoot, and with no bra? Yeah, I think that's probably it. As the doors steadily approach, I hear murmurs coming from behind them. I can't tell exactly what they're saying, but it sounds like arguing. Maybe over what to do with me, I assume.  
Italy doesn't even bother knocking as he swings open the door full force and announces our presence. "Hello! Sarah is awake, so I brought her to meet everyone!"  
The room quiets after the announcement, and everyone's attention is directed on me. I take my hand from Italy's grasp and cross both arms across my chest self-consciously. I feel naked. I suppose for the most part, I am, and also, I really don't care for the way France is looking at me.  
Italy and I are the only ones standing; everyone else is sitting around an oval-shaped table decorated with scattered papers that I assume have something to do with their respective issues. Maybe it's just a bunch of nonsense. I glue my eyes to my feet, but I still can't shake the feeling of their eyes on me. After what seems like an eternity, someone finally speaks. "You gave us quite a scare, Young Lady. It's not every day that a girl falls through the ceiling."  
I look up at the speaker and I see that it's England who has spoken. There's interest in his eyes, as if he's excited that I've showed up. Maybe he is. I remember from the show that England was almost always angry at something, which was evidenced by his constant scowl. This is one of the few times he doesn't have one, and I have to say, he's quite handsome without it.  
"S-sorry…It wasn't my intention to scare anybody," I say quietly.  
"Well, from the look of things, you weren't planning on doing anything today, it seems," America points out bluntly, gesturing to my attire.  
Blushing from embarrassment, I close my mouth and go back to studying my feet.  
"Don't be rude to her!" England exclaims.  
"I wasn't being rude!" America shoots back.  
"Aw, Sarah is so cute when she blushes! She almost looks like a tomato! Ve~," Italy says,giving me a smile.  
"Yes, she is quite a beauty. Oh, and look at her legs! They look so smooth… I would love to have them wrapped around me. Ohonhonhon." France says as he gets up from his chair and starts advancing towards me.  
I retreat until my back hits a bookshelf that is situated against the wall. I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting the worst, and keep my arms close to my chest as if this would protect me. I've never been involved in situations this overtly sexual, and it's rather alarming to be experiencing one now.  
"Stop it, you toad! You're scaring the poor girl!" I hear England shout, accompanied by a thump, as if something has hit the floor.  
I open my eyes and see France lying face-down in front of England, who is standing over him with a thick book in his hand. He must have whacked France with it, I speculate. Still, I'm grateful. "Thank you," I tell him.  
He glances in my direction and shrugs. "Don't mention it. I accept any excuse to sock him one."  
Russia, who had been silent this whole time, suddenly stands up and addresses the room. "While watching everyone makes fools of themselves is entertaining, I think we should address the issue at hand here, da?" His gaze meets mine and he gives me his customary smile. "So, since this is my house, I will ask the first question. Who are you?"  
Easy enough question, I think to myself. "Sarah Bourgeois."  
"And where are you from?" he asks me.  
"I'm from Louisiana."  
"An American," Russia states.  
"Yes, but she is from the French-speaking part of America," France interjects as he finally picks himself up off the floor. "Do you speak French, Mademoiselle?"  
I shake my head. "No, I don't. The teachers tried to teach me in school, but I could never get the hang of it."  
"What a shame," laments France as he makes his way back to his chair.  
"The only language she needs to know is American!" America declares as he fist pumps the air, a huge smile on his face.  
"It's called bloody English, you idiot!"  
"No, it's American!"  
"Actually, I may not speak French, but I know some German and Russian. So I guess I'm not entirely hopeless," I say as I stand there awkwardly before everyone.  
Now I had gained Germany's attention. This whole time, he hadn't said a word, and he looks as if he's debating something in his head. I guess he must still be a little upset with me for interrupting the meeting. Since he's looking directly at me, I have an excuse to study him. His eyes, a piercing blue, look as if they were determined to uncover every secret about me. I really don't like that feeling. His expression turns thoughtful before he speaks.  
"Sie sprechen Deutsch."  
"Ja, ich kann."  
"Sie sprechen sehr gut für einen amerikanischen."  
"Danke. Ein guter Freund hat mich gelehrt."  
"Wie bist du hierher gekommen?"  
"Ich bin mir nicht sicher."  
He nods his head and ceases his questions. I'm a bit relived, since I'm not sure on how many I would have to avoid answering, should he become more curious. Before I can relax, however, Russia is suddenly blocking my view of Germany. I already knew he was tall, but seeing him in person is a whole other matter. I have to crane my head up to get a good look at his face, and I see he is smiling down at me. Studying him, I notice that his hair is longer here than in the show. It falls just slightly past his ears. It looks good, and I begin wondering if it feels as soft as it looks.  
"Я вижу, вы можете говорить по-немецки , но может вы на самом деле говорить на русском?"  
"Da."  
"это хорошо. У меня такое ощущение меня , и вы собираетесь получить длинный принцессу," he tells me with a slight smirk.  
"Я не принцесса," I retort, not liking the nickname he had just given me.  
"Okay, can you two stop speaking the commie's language and go back to speaking English?" America requests with a pout on his face.  
"Yes, we need to decide how to process with her." England chooses the next course of action.  
"Hey! Hey, guys!" Italy shouts as he starts waving his arms around. "I just realized something important! She has no idea who we are!"  
Everyone is quiet following this statement, either from the shock of Italy being observant, or from the embarrassment of forgetting something as simple as introducing oneself. England, in particular, is very upset.  
"Oh, I am terribly sorry! How rude of us!" England makes his way towards me with his hand extended. "I am Arthur Kirkland. I am the representative of the United Kingdom of Britain."  
I shake his hand and nod my head. "Nice to meet you."  
"Me next!" says America as he appears behind England. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I represent the United States of America!"  
"My turn! I'm Feliciano Vargas, and I represent Italy!"  
"Honda Kiku, representative of Japan."  
Russia takes my hand and bows over it. "Ivan Bragniski, representative of the Russian Federation."  
"Francis Bonnefoy, representative of France, the country of l'amour."  
"I am Ludwig Beilschmidt. The representative of Germany."  
After they introduce themselves, I realize that the only one who hasn't spoken is Canada. Poor thing probably hasn't said anything because he just assumes no one will hear him. I cross over to him and give him a shy smile. He regards with a hopeful look on his face.  
"I would like to know your name, if you don't mind," I address him.  
"You can see me?" he asks, appearing astonished.  
"Of course I can. You're standing right beside me, so it's kind of hard not to see you."  
"Oh. Well, I'm Matthew Williams. I represent Canada."  
"Canada is a beautiful country. I went there about a year ago for a vacation."  
"Um, Sarah? Who are you talking to?" America questions.  
I look at him while pointing to my right, where Canada is standing. "I'm talking to Matthew. He's right here next to me."  
"Matthew? Who the bloody hell is Matthew?" England demands.  
"I believe she is talking about Alfred's brother, right, принцесса?" Russia confirms.  
I nod my head and I grab Canada's arm to place him in front of me so everybody can get a good look at him. It seems to help as a collective look of recognition settles over the rest.  
"Hey, Mattie! When did you get here?" America asks he saunters over and throws an arm over his brother's shoulder.  
"I've been here this whole time," Canada mutters. "I caught a ride to the meeting with you."  
"Of course you did!" America amends loudly, even though he clearly had no clue. He drags Canada away me and towards England.  
A few minutes later, all have settled back into their respective seats except Russia, who has decided that he would rather stand next to me. I wouldn't really mind so much if he would stop scrutinizing me. I have always thought that Russia was cute in his own sort of way, and you could say he's one of my favorites, but right now, I'm understanding why everyone is a least a little bit scared of him. He's a whole lot bigger in person. I'm only two inches past five feet, and he looks to be six feet at least. Not only is he tall, but the guy looks like he wrestles polar bears for fun, so burly is his build. I wouldn't be surprised if his jacket concealed muscle instead of fat. The guy just comes off as intimidating, and it doesn't help that I can feel him staring at me. I shift awkwardly on my feet and go back to concentrating on keeping my arms crossed over my chest. Seriously, could these guys hurry up and decide on what to do with me so I could find a decent change of clothes?  
"Ohonhonhon, I see a pair of frilly black under garments!" I hear France sing.  
Startled, I jerk my head in his direction and notice the open-mouthed stare fixed on my crotch. I look down and I see that while I was keeping my arms crossed over my chest, my arms were bunching up my nightgown. Quite literally, France sees my underpants. Blushing furiously, I hastily yank down my nightgown to cover up my underwear, but this only worsens the situation, as I pull too hard and the neckline comes down far enough to give everyone a good view of my cleavage.  
"Oh, and she's not wearing a bra! Look at the size of those things! Magnifique!" France says excitedly as he makes his way towards me, his arms outstretched.  
"Stay away from me, you pervert, and stop looking at me!" I shriek as I attempt to find cover.  
Luckily for me, Russia comes to the rescue as he steps in front of me, blocking France's path, and proceeds to scare him away with his famous "Kokolkol." Once France is a safe distance away, Germany makes his way towards me, jacket in hand. He ignores Russia completely, circumventing him to put his jacket over my shoulders.  
"Thank you," I tell Germany, my cheeks still flushed with mortification.  
"You're welcome," he replies with a neutral expression and tone.  
"Oh, and thank you, too, Ivan." I direct this towards Russia, who nods his head once.  
Germany directs his attention towards the others. "So where will Sarah be staying for now?"  
"Well, she's an American, so shouldn't she be staying with me for now?" America asks.  
"Maybe, but she can speak German and Russian, so perhaps she could stay with either representative," proposes England.  
"Well, what does Sarah want to do?" Italy asks me.  
Everyone's attention is drawn to me, waiting for an answer, but I don't know where I want to go. I wouldn't mind going back to America, but I always wanted to visit Germany or Russia.  
"Um. Maybe I can stay here for now, since I'm already here?" I submit uncertainly.  
"Sounds good to me," England agrees. "After the world meeting, she can decide where to go next." He then stands up and begins making his exit from the conference room. "I'm going home."  
"No way! She should come with me first!" argues America.  
Germany sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "This isn't something to argue over, Alfred. It's her decision to make, and she's elected to remain with Ivan," he says with an air of finality. His eyes bore into America as if daring him to protest.  
America crosses his arms and adopts a sullen expression. "Fine! But if something goes wrong here, I'm coming after you, Commie!" he promises Russia while jabbing a finger in his general direction.  
Russia tilts his head slightly and look at him with a smile. "Everything will be fine! Isn't that right, принцесса?" he turns to me to ask.  
Oh, man. What have I gotten myself into?


	7. Italian Spice

_**Maura's POV** _

  
So after the whole scaring Romano and eating churros with Spain, we settled down into the kitchen just to relax. As soon as we sat down, however, Romano started bombarding me with questions about who I was, where I came from and all that jazz. It was getting kind of annoying, but he looked so hot when he was angry that I just deliberately ignored him.  
"Stop ignoring me, dammit!" He yelled at me.  
"Antonio, do you hear something?" I ask Spain as I continue to ignore Romano. A small smirk crosses my face at the sight of Romano going red in his. This is so much fun.  
"Don't pretend I'm not here! Antonio! Make her stop or I'm never talking to you again!"  
With the threat of never speaking to Romano, Spain turns to me with a pleading look on his face. "Please, just answer his questions. Honestly I'm kind of curious, too."  
I sigh as I finally nod my head. So much for having fun, but I really wasn't in the mood to be playing 20 Questions with these two unless it had something to do with me and Romano doing the nasty. I'm such a pervert.  
"Alright! What do you want to know?" I ask the both of them as I fold my hands in front of me. I look them straight in the eyes and I tell them to ask me anything. "Don't hold back on me now."  
They're silent for a minute before Spain speaks. "How did you get here?"  
"I'm not actually sure, myself. All I remember is spending time with my friends before passing out and waking up here." I tell them honestly. I really did have no idea on how I got here.  
"Fine, don't tell us." Romano tells me with a sneer on his face. "So who is this of yours?"  
"Oh that's an easy one! Sarah."  
"What's this Sarah like?" asks Spain  
"Well, Sarah can definitely be introverted. If she doesn't know you well, she won't say much, but she's hilarious once she feels comfortable with you. Unfortunately, she's insecure about herself, thinking she's ugly and all that, when she is actually super pretty. Oh, and her tits are fucking massive." I tell them as I gesture in front of my chest to show melons of an exaggerated size.  
"What the fuck do her boobs have to do with any of this?" Romano inquires, his expression confused.  
"Consider it a bonding experience. She and I are breast friends." I take a minute to silently snort at my own joke.  
Obviously, Romano doesn't find it nearly as funny as I do, judging by his unamused expression. However, Spain seems to appreciate the pun. It's good to know that there's a least one guy that has my back, though not the guy I would have preferred, and not in the way that I would have liked. Easy there, Tiger.  
The awkward silence that follows is one for the history (ha, get it?) books. I keep trying to figure out something to say when Spain finally breaks the tension. He imitates checking a watch and adopts a surprised expression. "WOW, would you just look at the time! It's time for dinner. Say, my tomato, would you mind making your awesome special lasagna?"  
Romano gave Spain a surly look and snaps out, "Don't fucking call me that, and why the fuck do I have to cook?" but he gets up anyway and heads towards the pantry, where he starts picking out various ingredients for his dish. I stare after him, confused but my interest piqued as well, and Spain, seeming to sense my preoccupation, tells me that he has "something to take care of" and walks away to another part of the house.  
With that distraction gone, I take a minute to get a good look at my surroundings. The kitchen itself isn't very big, but what fills it seems to be the latest and greatest in cooking technology. Blenders and mixers and food processors (oh, my?), a range stove, a sizable fridge, a dish washer, shiny pots and pans hanging by hooks under several white cabinets, and other assorted kitchen items took up the space. If these didn't tip off the fact that both men were lovers of cooking, the assorted herbs and spices growing abundantly in the windowsill were a dead giveaway.  
And here at the middle of it all was a dark wooden table, and a fine table it was. Mahogany, I thought jokingly, thinking back on a beloved series of mine. I'm extremely grateful that I landed in this universe instead of one where I would have to deal with having holes blasted through my chest. Ew.  
The noise of rattling dishes brings me out of my thoughts. I turn my attention back to Romano, whose back is mostly to me. I didn't mind, though. I have a pretty nice view of his ass. He got the booty? He dooooo. His face, mostly in profile, is set in deep concentration, and isn't that just fucking adorable? I lean my chin on my hand and sigh dreamily.  
"What are you sighing about?" he mutters, his hands busy at work with ingredients for the meal. The kitchen was quiet before except for the occasional sounds of him at work, so when he speaks I quite nearly jump out of my skin. Luckily, his back is to me, so I adopt a bored expression and drawl out, "I'm fucking hungry, Asshat."  
Romano seems to be in the zone, though, so he merely shrugs and says, "Well, you're just going to have to wait, Bitch." Maybe I should be insulted, but I guess turnabout's fair play. I like the fact that he can take what I give and dish it right back. Most guys are shocked when they experience my rather…colorful vocabulary. It's pretty great that he's being himself around me. I don't think I'd be able to tolerate a polite Romano. That would be too fucking weird.  
After what seems like an eternity, Romano finally puts the lasagna to baking. From what I can tell, he seems to be a pretty excellent cook, though for all I know, the taste of his lasagna is as dirty as his mouth. I'm just hungry enough to not even give a shit at this point.  
He sits down at the table across from me, content to let the silence stew for a few minutes. I'm not, especially not in a place so unfamiliar, but I'm determined not to let it show. Give off the air of being impossible to screw with, and all that. Still, it's really hard not to fidget when he goes to stare at me. Did it suddenly get hot in here, or was it just me?  
When I think I can't stand his bright green eyes unblinkingly on me any longer, he ends the silence.  
"Well, it looks like you'll be staying here tonight, since you have nowhere else to go. But you'll have your own fucking bed."  
"A fucking bed of my very own?!" I exclaim with exaggerated sweetness. I bat my eyelashes. "What about a normal bed? Do I get one of those, too? And what exactly does it take to make a fucking bed? Seems like it'd take a team effort, if you ask me. Which you didn't. That's okay, though."  
At this point Romano turns a rather violent shade of red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to find a way to respond. I go to start in with another risqué comment when Spain re-enters the kitchen with a cheerful wave and a "Hola!" Then he pauses, taking in Lovino's sputtering and my snickering, apparently not quite grasping the situation. "Lovino! You're as bright as a tomato! What's wrong, do you have a fever?" Spain leans in to put his hand on Romano's forehead, as if to check his temperature, but Romano angrily swats his hand away.  
"Nothing's wrong with me, Bastard," he growls, getting up abruptly from his chair. As he goes to check on the lasagna, Spain takes his place, at the table apparently unfazed.  
"So what took you so long?" I asked conversationally as I hear my stomach rumble, trying to pass the time while the food was cooking. Dear, God. Please, soon. Food.  
"I was doing some last-minute paperwork for my job," he tells me. I could tell the turn of the topic was making him uncomfortable. Ooh, goody. This should be fun.  
"What kind of job do you do?"  
"Oh, government…job." I see Romano turn to look over his shoulder glaringly at Spain. Pfft, I wonder how long they could keep this "secret" up.  
"Oh, really? That's interesting! And what position do you hold in this government job of yours?"  
"Oh, well. You know…" he replies rather vaguely.  
"Nope!" I say rather gleefully. "I would surely like to know about you, though! If we're going to be friends, and everything."  
Spain's expression lightened, and he considered. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in tel-"  
"Antonio, giuro su Dio , se dici un'altra parola , io chiuderò in un armadio buio con la Russia." Romano cuts him off, though I couldn't even be mad at the interruption because holy fucking black on a popo, that accent. Do me now, I thought, my mouth watering, and not from the delicious smell of the lasagna.  
"Come again?" Romano looks at me, an eyebrow raised.  
Woah, phrasing. "Yes," I breathed, and then shake my head as if to pull myself together. "I mean-I said, uh. How stupid you sound. Yeah. Stupid. That's it." I should probably close my mouth now.  
"Well it's a lot better than that potato language you speak." His sneer was rather impressive, actually, but I couldn't just sit there and let him insult my native tongue (never mind the fact that it's exactly what just I did.). Aw hell nah.  
"Excuse me, but that potato language has a name, and it happens to be German." I start speaking with a thick and angry accent, but boy, did he not have a clue.  
"Wie über Sie mir , dass italienische Wurst in der Hose zeigen."  
Spain is watching the exchange between us, rather clueless but enjoying himself anyway.  
"I have no idea what you're saying-" Romano begins.  
"Willst du in gespielter Fortpflanzung zu engagieren?"  
„But if you're going to sit there and talk the talk, you better be able to back it up," he finishes smugly.  
I pause, looking intently at him for a moment before breaking out into a similar smirk. "Same goes."  
Before Lovino could respond, the timer for the lasagna rings, signaling dinner time and the end of this exchange. As much as I would love to keep it going, at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if my stomach hadn't already eaten a hole through itself. Dinner, therefore, is passed in silence. Also, dammit, the lasagna is too fucking good. Yet another thing to add to the list of amazing qualities of my favorite character.  
After the meal is finished and Spain has taken care of the dishes, Romano exits the kitchen in stony silence, heading towards his bedroom. I consider the possibility of messing with him some more, but before I'm able to do so, Spain takes my arm in a friendly manner and escorts me to their guest bedroom.  
"And this, my lovely new friend, is where you'll be staying tonight. Just ring if you need anything!" He then exits, while I go to the bed, crawl between the covers, and wish that Romano had made a similar offer.


	8. BelaRUDE

_**Sarah's POV** _

  
My first night at Russia's was uneventful. I ended up back in the room that I woke up in and after that, nothing really happened. Well, I did get a nagging feeling that something was watching me, but besides that I was able to go to sleep just fine.  
I wake up to the sound of someone entering my room. For a moment, I forget where I am and assume that it's only Maura. She tends to wake me up in the morning. I hear the person walk over towards the bed and stop on the side that I'm lying on. I'm getting a bit agitated because usually Maura would have done something by now and all I really want to do is sleep. So, I roll over to yell at her to leave me alone, when my words suddenly catch in my throat. Everything comes rushing back to me as I realize that it isn't Maura who is standing above me.  
"Why are you in my brother's house?" Belarus asks me with a sinister look on her face.  
I don't know what to say. I know whatever I come up with wouldn't be a good enough excuse for her. I haven't even been here two days and I've already met Belarus. Dear God, the one person I never wanted to meet. Looking at her up close, I can see that she obviously took pride in her appearance as she is very beautiful. Her blonde hair is tied back with an oversized blue bow to match the dark blue of her signature dress and the color of her eyes. Think Alice in Wonderland without the white apron. I'm assuming that the only reason she takes such care with her appearance is so Russia will be more inclined to be with her. It doesn't matter how good-looking you are; if you're crazy, no one will want to get with you.  
I see a glint of metal before a knife is pointed in front of my face. "I'm going to ask you again," she says as she leans in closer towards me. "Why are you in my brother's house?"  
Before I could answer her, I hear the distinct sound of bouncing. 'Boing Boing'. There's only one person I know who would be making that sound while they walked. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that sweet Ukraine is coming to my rescue.  
"Oh sister, I hope you haven't awoken Vanya's guest!" She says as she walks into the room. Her smile instantly brightens the place, at least in my opinion.  
"This girl is not a guest. She is an intruder in my dear brother's house." Belarus tells her while her eyes never leave mine.  
"But Vanya said she is a guest." Ukraine says uncertainly as she starts fiddling with her hands.  
With the mention of Russia, Belarus turns her head towards her sister. "You have spoken with brother? You have seen him?"  
Ukraine nods her head and her smile is put back on her face. "Yes, I have. He was hiding in his office when I found him. I think he's still there."  
With that being said, Belarus heads out of the room, most likely to go find Russia. Before she exits, though, she turns back to me. "Don't move." Then she leaves.  
Once she's gone, I release the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I lay back against the pillows and I close my eyes while rubbing my temples. Man, I feel stressed out. With my eyes still closed, I don't see Ukraine move from the doorway and make her ways towards the bed. I do feel the bed dip, however, when she sits near the edge.  
"Please excuse my sister. She is really a sweet girl when you get to know her." I hear her tell me.  
I open my eyes and look at her. She has such a hopeful expression on her face that I know I can't tell her what I really think of Belarus, so I just give her a small smile and nod. She smiles back at me and sighs a breath of relief, but when she does, one of her shirt buttons flies off and hits my forehead.  
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she exclaims, and I can see the tears are about to start pouring. "They never want to stay on! Did it hurt you?"  
I rub my forehead and I give her a slight chuckle. "Please don't cry," I tell her. "I'm really alright and I know it's not your fault that it 'came off. Believe me; I've had it happen a couple of times myself." I gesture to my own sizeable bosom.  
She breaths another sigh of relief. "I am glad you are alright. It is also nice to finally have someone who understands." She gives a light chuckle and extends her hand. "I am Katsuya."  
I take her hand and shake it firmly. "I'm Sarah. It's nice to meet you."  
"My brother may not have told me why you are here, but I hope you will feel welcome during your stay." Ukraine says as she gets up from the bed. "He did, however, tell me to prepare you some clothes since you seem to have none. I think I have some that may fit you." She walks towards the door and gestures towards me with her hand. "If you will follow me, we can go look at them together."  
I get out of the bed and follow her out of the room. She leads me down the hallway and I notice that we pass the office area where I met the G8 nations yesterday. She stops before another bedroom, and I'm assuming it's her room that she uses when she visits Russia. It's a bit smaller than my mine, but it's not to say that the room is small in general. While my room is painted red, the walls of Ukraine's room are a lavender color, and there are violets everywhere. I never thought that Russia was the kind of person to decorate rooms with flowers, especially if they weren't sunflowers. Come to think of it, I can't see him decorating at all. Ukraine sees me studying the flowers and she assures me that they are fake. Apparently, she brings them for her own amusement. She really likes violets.  
While she's rummaging through her dresser, I take a seat on her bed and take the time to reflect on what has happened so far. Let me see if I can get this straight: I'm in Hetalia, and I have met all the main characters. I was practically molested by France. I'm currently living with Russia, though for who knows how long before I'm shipped somewhere else. Also, I was separated from my best friend, and I need to figure out a way to find her. I'm completely broke, so it's not like I can leave whenever the mood strikes me to do so. I wouldn't even know where to start looking anyway. Hopefully, wherever Maura is, she is safe.  
Ukraine comes towards me holding a stack of clothes in her hands and she lays them down beside me. "Here you go! I hope they fit, but this is all I have. Maybe later we can go shopping for some clothes for you."  
The first thing I notice is the bra. I could weep with gratitude. "Thank god!" I say as I pick the undergarment up and hold it to my chest. No longer will I have to go around bra-less! I take a look at the other clothes she has brought me and I see a pair of underwear and a yellow dress that is decorated with sunflowers. It's kind of cute, you know, for a dress. It looks a bit long, but that's not surprising, since I'm so short. Ukraine has a tall frame, so any of her clothing would be a bit long on me.  
"You're lucky you are staying here while it is summer in Russia. If it were winter I probably wouldn't be here. Work tends to keep me away from my brother for certain periods of time," She informs me with a sad look on her face.  
In the show, it was always obvious that Ukraine loved her brother, and it's still just as apparent in person. Just thank God that she isn't crazy like Belarus and trying to marry him. I don't think Russia's poor heart would be able to take it. Ukraine is still looking crestfallen when out of nowhere, we both hear a shriek coming from down the hallway. We look towards each other than simultaneously make for the door to investigate when suddenly, Russia bursts in screaming and looking very frightened.  
"Принцесса!" he shouts when he notices me. He runs towards me and crouches down behind me. "Держите его подальше!"  
Unsure of what to do, I just stand there, when I hear footsteps coming towards the room. "Big Brother!" I hear Belarus say. "Let us become one, Big Brother!"  
When she walks into the room and sees that Russia is hiding behind me, I know that I'm well and truly fucked. I am about to die. I'm going to die some horrible death before I can truly get a good lay, if Belarus's expression is any indication. Funny, I never thought that I would die because Russia made the careless mistake of using me as a meat shield. I wonder if she'll let me smoke a last cigarette. (You don't even smoke, Sarah.) Oh, right. There's that. But what the hell, if I'm about to be put six feet under, might as well go out trying new things.  
"Brother! Why are you hiding behind this girl?! Is she more special to you than I am?!" she bellows as she advances towards us. I see that she is holding a knife in each hand. She starts to twirl them a bit as if preparing to throw them. (How wonderful.)  
"Now, Natalia," Ukraine says softly, taking a few steps toward her sister as if trying to coax a snarling, rabid bear. It's probably as good of an analogy as any I've heard. "Sarah is just a friend visiting our dear brother. I am sure absolutely nothing is going on between them. Isn't that right, Vanya?" Ukraine prompts Russia, not taking her eyes off of Belarus.  
Russia doesn't say anything as he keeps himself crouched behind me, my legs locked in a death-grip between his shaking arms. It's a bit hard to keep balance when someone is wrapped so tightly around your legs.  
"I can tell you now that nothing is going on between me and your brother." I begin as I raise my hands up in a gesture of surrender. "We're just friends." With these words, I feel Russia's arms slacken a bit around my legs. Maybe it's a good sign.  
"Lies!" she yells angrily as she moves towards me again. (Spoke too soon, I guess.) "I will finish you so that only my brother and I will be together!"  
As Belarus steps forward for an attack, Ukraine steps in front of her, blocking her path while trying to reason with her. "Natalia! Please calm down. I think you're taking this a bit too far."  
Her plea goes unnoticed as Belarus pushes Ukraine out of the way. My heart is thumping loudly in my chest and I'm frozen in fear. Even if Russia wasn't holding onto my legs I'm pretty sure I still would not be able to move. (Shouldn't my life be flashing before my eyes right now?) She raises her knives to strike me, and I close my eyes, waiting for the blow.  
It never comes. Instead, I hear a clatter, as if something made of metal was hitting the floor, and I suddenly don't feel Russia behind me anymore. I open my eyes to see that Russia is grasping Belarus's wrist in his hand. There is a furious glint in his eyes as he stares at her. Glancing towards the ground, I see the knife that was about to end me, glinting dully on the floor. I look back up and I see Ukraine with her hands covering her mouth and her eyes wide in fright. A quick study of Belarus's face and I see that she isn't frightened, but shocked. If I had to guess, I'd say that this is the first time Russia has done anything of the like to his own sister, let alone even look at her with such a fierce gaze.  
"Принцесса here is my friend." He tells her calmly. "I don't like the fact that you tried to kill her in my house."  
She blinks at him a couple of times before she finally speaks. "She isn't your friend, Brother! I'm sure she is just some little whore trying to ruin you!"  
"SILENCE!" he roars at her.  
She stops talking immediately. I'm pretty sure Russia has never shouted or been angry at Belarus in his life. Being so, you can imagine that this is shock to everyone in the room. I'm confused as to why he is finally standing up to her now, of all times, but at the same time, I'm grateful that he protected me from her. The room grows silent as Belarus and Russia attempt to stare down one another. Finally, after what seems like hours, Belarus starts to cry. It begins quietly at first, but then it becomes full-blown bawling.  
"Why are you so angry at me?!" she sobs at him. "I didn't do anything wrong!" She turns her gaze towards mine and her face twists in rage and disgust. "It's your fault!" she shrieks. "You're stealing him away from me!"  
I look towards Russia and I see that he has a rather sad expression on his face. I've never seen him without his smile, so it's surprising to behold him like this. He just continues to regard his sister as she alternates hurling vicious insults towards me and crying about how they were meant to be together.  
"Sister," he says quietly, but it's enough to shut her up.  
She turns back to him with a hopeful look on her face, waiting for what he has to say. I assume she is of the notion that Russia is going to relent and tell her that they are going to get married, assimilate everyone together happily, and burn me at the stake as the wedding entertainment.  
"I think….I think you need to leave."  
Belarus' smile disintegrates and the tears come back full-force. She falls to the floor and clutches at his legs. He doesn't even look at her. Instead, he stares straight ahead as if she isn't even in the room. Ukraine comes over to her and tries to help her up, but Belarus just shoves her away. Ukraine gives Russia a pleading expression. "Vanya, please. I'm sure we can fix this somehow."  
He shakes his head and maintains eye-contact with the door. "I'm sorry, Katsuya, but I can't have her here if she is going to be a danger to my guests. Besides, this is long overdue. She must go." He says with an air of finality. "Will you help her pack her things?" he asks her.  
She considers him for a moment before she nods her head. Ukraine returns to Belarus and Russia turns his attention towards me. I realize that this whole time I haven't moved from my spot. My head is reeling, trying to make sense of everything that has just occurred. He makes his way towards me and puts a hand on top of my head.  
"Are you alright, Принцесса?" he asks me, concern evident in his voice. I lift my eyes to his and bob my head once. I didn't trust my voice at moment. With my luck, the words would come out sounding high-pitched and cracking. He gives me a long look before nodding his head in understanding. He then walks towards Ukraine's bed where the clothes have laid during this whole ordeal. Picking them up, he comes back over, grabs my hand with his free one, and leads me out of the room and away from the hysterical Belarus.  
We make it back to my room. Russia leaves me by the bed before crossing over to the adjoining bathroom with the clothes. I'm wondering what he's doing in there, when I hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. He comes out a couple of minutes later without the clothing and goes to the bed where I'm currently sitting, still a little dazed from the near-death experience.  
"You look like you need a bath." He tells me bluntly.  
I frown slightly at this, the fact that basically stated I was dirty, when I know I couldn't have been that bad. He clarifies then that he only meant that I looked stressed.  
"A bath always relaxes me and you look like you could use it."  
"Why did you help me?" I finally ask him. That question has been on my mind for the past couple of minutes. I clear my throat as I internally grimace. (Called it.) My voice was pitched higher than Justin Timberlake's falsetto  
Russia doesn't seem to notice. He is silent, as if considering his answer. After what seemed like forever he finally says, "Because you said you were my friend. No one has ever called me their friend before. I couldn't let the first person to do that be killed by my sister. Also, I kind of like you and it would be a shame to lose you when I just met you, Принцесса."  
Now it's my turn to be silent. I'm not sure what to say. Maybe a thank you is in order, but I can't help but to feel awed and a bit special that Russia would stand up to his sister in order to protect me. I didn't think there was anyone in the world who he would do that for.  
"Thank you," I manage to get out after several seconds of silence.  
He smiles at me; a true genuine smile. It was so nice to see one on his face again. "What are friends for?"  
I can't help but to return his smile, chucking a little. "Well, I guess I'll go take that bath now since you so nicely started it for me," I tell him as I start to head towards the bath room. Before I enter, though, I turn towards him and ask one final question. "By the way, why do you call me princess?"  
He raises an eyebrow, but his smile stays in place. "It's what you're name means. 'Sarah' is Hebrew for 'princess.' I'm only calling you that which you are." With that said, he leaves me alone to my own thoughts and the emotions swirling around in my head


	9. Towels, Tomatoes, and Truths

**_Maura's POV_ **

  
"I delfini vanno a ballare sulle spiagge. Gli elefanti vanno a ballare in cimiteri sconosciuti. Le nuvole vanno a ballare all'orizzonte. I treni vanno a ballare nei musei a pagamento. E tu dove vai a ballare?"  
I wake up to the sound of someone singing. The voice is beautiful, but the identity of the owner is a mystery. The voice itself is obviously male, since the tone is deep and throaty and extremely pleasant to the ears. Pondering this, I sit up in the bed and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes. I had the most wonderful dream last night involving Romano and some rather creative acts in the bedroom. In your dreams, Maura, my internal dialogue tells me in a condescending manner. I snort. Well, that was kind of the point, I reply sarcastically. Squabbling amongst myself again? Man, I need therapy. Cue eye roll. Yep, the voice agrees. For once. I start chuckling to myself when the song starts up again.  
"Vieni a ballare in Puglia Puglia Puglia, tremulo come una foglia foglia foglia. Tieni la testa alta quando passi vicino alla gru, perche puo capitare che si stacchi e venga giu."  
The voice sounds like it's coming from right outside of the bedroom window, so I decide to get out of bed and investigate. I open the window to search for the source, and at first I don't see anything except for a tomato garden, but looking a little longer, I spy someone walking up and down the rows of tomatoes. I assume it's Spain at first, since I can't picture Romano being up this early, but when the person comes into view, I'm proven wrong. I'm a bit shocked to see Romano outside, covered in dirt and a smile as he sings, "Hey turista so che tu resti in questo posto italico. Attento! Tu passi il valico ma questa terra ti manda al manicomio. Mare Adriatico e Ionio, vuoi respirare lo iodio ma qui nel golfo c'e puzza di zolfo, che sta arrivando il demonio."  
The longer I listen to the words, the more I recognize the song. He's singing a tune that describes one of the cities located in the Southern Italy. That's right, bitches. I know Italian, too! Well, not fluently like my English and German. Really just snippets and phrases, but it's enough to understand the meaning of the lyrics. I smile to myself and continue to listen. His music makes me want to join in just to see the look on his face when I start singing in Italian. With that thought in mind, I hurry outside.  
When I open the door that leads out into the garden, I'm blinded by the sunlight. Positioning my hand above my face helps lessen the glare, thankfully. Once my eyes adjust, I head toward the garden in search of my singing Italian. Not yours, Idiot. I find him a few rows down, bent over and considering one of the tomatoes. His untucked shirt is white with smudges of dirt scattered liberally across it, so I suppose it couldn't be considered "white" any longer. The khaki shorts he wears are in a similar state. What has he been doing to get so dirty? Roll around on the ground? He is also wearing a straw hat to keep the sun from his eyes. Why didn't I think of that earlier? Because you don't have anything but the clothes on your back, Dumbass. Oh, right. There is that. Once he's inspected the tomato, he stands upright and places it in the basket near his feet, which I've just noticed are bare. He picks up the basket and makes his way toward another tomato plant, all while never glancing in my direction. He doesn't know I'm here, it seems.  
"Abbronzatura da paura con la diossina dell'ILVA. Qua ti vengono pois piu rossi di Milva e dopo assomigli alla Pimpa. Nella zona spacciano la moria piu buona. C'e chi ha fumato veleni all'ENI, chi ha lavorato ed e andato in coma."  
God, he sounds so incredibly attractive singing in his native tongue. Oh, what I would give to have him whisper naughty things into my ear in Italian. They don't even have to be naughty. He could utter things like "toothbrush" and "Rick Astley" and I would still melt into a puddle of 'Please, Sir, may I have some more?' Never gonna give you up, never gonna let...While I'm envisioning one such scene, Romano stops and picks another tomato, still oblivious to the fact that I'm practically stalking him. Clearing the thoughts from my mind, I creep my way slowly toward him. Once I'm behind him, and I see that he is about to open his mouth to start singing again, I cut him off.  
"Fuma persino il Gargano, con tutte quelle foreste accese. Turista tu balli e canti, io conto i defunti di questo paese," I sing loudly into his ear, startling him.  
"Eekk!" He gives a very manly (not) shriek and drops the tomato that he had been holding. It splatters all over his feet. I see him glance downward and then tense when he sees the ruined tomato. He spins around and gives me quite the menacing glare. Well, doesn't he look pissed?  
"Look at what you made me do!" he exclaims in frustration as he points at feet decorated with bits of tomato. "That was a perfectly good tomato and you made me drop it!"  
"Whoa, I'm sorry." I raise my hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's not my fault that you're clumsy."  
"I am not clumsy!" he yells at me. He opens his mouth as if to say something else, but then he quickly closes it. An expression that looks very much like panic crosses his face, and he colors the shade of his tomatoes.  
I tilt my head curiously, wondering why he suddenly went red in the face. "Everything all right?" I ask him, a tad concerned. I reach out a hand to touch his shoulder.  
"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU IN YOUR UNDERWEAR?!" he shouts as he jumps back, as if I had leprosy. He turns around in embarrassment.  
I blink a couple of times before I look down at myself. Well, then. It seems that I had forgotten about taking off my clothes last night for bed. I must have been so excited to sing with Romano that dressing never crossed my mind. Usually, I sleep naked, but since I was in a stranger's home, I thought I'd at least sleep with my bra and panties on. And at least they're boy shorts this time. I feel my cheeks heat a little, but I'm still thankful that all the important bits were covered. What's done is done, so I can't really be bothered by this turn of events, but I know it's bothering him as his back is still turned to me.  
"I'm not going to put on dirty clothes," I tell him finally. "So, unless you have a solution for that, you're going to have deal with me like this."  
Without looking at me, he says, "Fine! I'll handle it. Just go back into your room so I don't have to look at you like that."  
Dick. Could he sound any more insulting? "Aw, what's the matter? Never seen a woman half-naked before?" I say teasingly in revenge. Not waiting for a reply, I walk back inside the house and make my way back to my room.  
Once inside, I wait patiently for someone to bring me a new pair of clothes. After about 30 minutes, there is a knock on the door. When I answer it and no one's on the other side, I look down at my feet and see that someone had left a pair of clothes for me to wear. Grinning to myself, I pick up the clothing and exit the room in search for a bathroom. When I find one, I decide that I might as well take a shower while I'm in there.  
After I'm clean and dry, I hook on my bra. There is not a chance in Hell that I'm putting on dirty underwear, so I settle for going commando. The pile of clothing that I was given consists of a button-up green shirt that goes to mid-thigh and a pair of black shorts that drops to the top of my knees. The shirt strains a bit across the chest and the shorts are tight-fitting (damn guys and their narrow hips), but they'll do. Looking at my reflection, I groan at my appearance. Would that Spain turned out to be metrosexual and had some eyeliner or mascara lying around. Grimacing, I rummage around the bathroom looking for a brush. Once I find one, I attempt to try to get my hair under control.  
I give myself a final once-over, an expression of resignation on my face, and leave the bathroom. My stomach starts growling, begging for food, so I go ahead into the kitchen. Maybe if I'm lucky, I can get Romano or Spain to make me breakfast. I can't do much in the way of cooking.  
I enter the kitchen and I see Spain at the stove, presumably cooking for himself. I clear my throat so he'll notice me. He turns his head and gives me a smile.  
"Hola, Preciosa!" he greets me happily. Spain then turns his attention back to the stove. I see he is making some eggs, and boy, do they smell delicious. "Would you like something to eat this morning?"  
"Antonio, you are a god." Or a country. Close enough. I seat myself at the kitchen table and try to quell my growling stomach with a bright green apple that was sitting in a bowl, with various other fruit, in the middle of the table.  
"So, how did you sleep last night?" he asks casually.  
I shrug my shoulders, trying to work through a particularly big mouthful of fruit. "Ar shlerpt firne."  
"I hope the clothes are comfortable. I would have given you a pair of my old clothes, but Romano insisted that you use some of his." I can hear the smugness in his voice. Even though his back is to me, I know he probably has a huge grin on his face, the idiot .  
I raise an eyebrow at the statement. Romano insisted I wear his clothes? Strange. I inspect the clothes I'm wearing once more and try to imagine him wearing these clothes. The image is a nice one. A smile breaks over my face and I indiscreetly take a sniff at the shirt. It smells like rosemary and tomatoes; definitely Romano. I'm still breathing in the scent and contemplating whether or not to chew on it (What? I'm fucking hungry.) when I suddenly hear someone clearing their throat. My eyes shift to Spain, who's staring at me with an amused expression on his face. I feel my face start to warm for the second time today, and so I shift my attention to what's being held in his hands. It's a plate of food that consists of scrambled eggs, toast, a muffin, and...churros?  
"Why are you serving churros for breakfast?" I ask out of confusion. Not that I care either way. I'm about to destroy that plate and everything it holds dear. Still.  
"You can eat churros anytime of time of the day," he explains. "Besides, I had already made me some, and I thought that maybe you would like some as well." He then proceeds to take a seat across from me.  
I begin to inhale my food as we sit in silence. Spain says nothing, and honestly, it becomes a bit awkward. I have an excuse not to speak, but Spain just keeps looking at me. My meal's almost finished when I decide to go ahead and break the silence. "So," I begin.  
"Why were you sniffing Romano's clothes?"  
I choke on a bit of egg at the reminder of what I had done a few moments before. I know I shouldn't be so embarrassed, but I can't help it. It's not every day you get caught sniffing Southern Italy's clothes, especially if the person who catches you is his closest friend. "Warum musste er zu bemerken?" I wheeze out as quietly as possible, thumping my chest with my fist in an effort to clear my throat.  
"Well, it was hard not to when you're so obvious about it," he supplies helpfully as he grins at me.  
I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. A piece of egg falls out, unnoticed. He understood what I just said? That can't be, right? Yesterday, when I was spewing sexual innuendos towards Romano, he looked as if he had no idea what was going on!  
"You're probably wondering why I am able to understand you. Truth is, a close friend of mine speaks German, so I took it upon myself to learn the language," he informs me with a shrug of his shoulders. "I did not say anything about it yesterday because I thought it very amusing how you wanted to see Romano's 'Italian sausage' and have 'procreation' with him, or however you so creatively put it yesterday." He ends the statement with a laugh.  
I can't help but to laugh with him. It was pretty amusing to talk dirty to an unwitting Romano. I laugh even harder at the realization that Spain actually understood what was going on. It's just too damn funny, and I know I would have acted in ignorance as well, were I in a similar position. Once I calm down, I meet his eyes with a smirk. "You're a lot smarter than you look."  
"So I've been told," he says with a light chuckle. "You still haven't answered the question, though."  
I sigh. Man, I don't even know to explain it myself. I mean, what can I say? I'm acting like a school girl who has a crush on some dumb boy...which is pretty much the situation at hand, apart from being a school girl. Unless that would work...? Focus. Besides, I'm fairly certain he detests me. This upsets me more than it should. Why should I care if he likes me or not?  
"It's difficult not to smell them when I'm wearing them. It also doesn't hurt that, maybe, they smell kind of nice." I avert my eyes when I finish that sentence.  
"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know," he assures me. "If it makes you feel any better or less awkward, you can talk to me about him. If you want, that is."  
"What makes you think I want to talk about him?"  
"Because I get the feeling that he has been on your thoughts since you first met him. I also get the feeling that maybe you have met him before, seeing as you handled him so well. Most people are a bit shocked at his attitude when they first meet him, but you handled him as if you already knew how he was." His playfulness is gone and replaced with a serious expression. "Now, if that were the case, why would you lie about not knowing him and knowing where you are?"  
Spain is now staring at me with an intently. In the show, he was always smiling and happy. I've never seen him so serious, and it makes me think of the fan fictions Sarah told me about involving Spain and his Spanish Conquistador mode. Now, I don't know too much about Spanish history, but I do know that the conquistadors were ruthless soldiers that engineered the conquest of parts of the New World and brought about the end of the Aztec and Inca Empires. Seeing him like this causes a shiver of fear to run down my spine. I know he's expecting me to tell him the truth, but honestly, I'm not sure how to explain my circumstances to him without sounding like I'm bat-shit crazy.  
"I like you, Maura. You seem like a good person, and you appear to have a wonderful personality. It seems like you may even care a bit about Lovino. However, I will not tolerate liars and those who might cause potential harm to those I care about. So, I am going to give you the chance to explain yourself before I start assuming the worst." With that said, he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest, waiting for me to speak.  
The rest of my food forgotten, I set my fork beside my plate and clasp my hands in my lap. I remember telling them yesterday that I wasn't sure how I got here, but they didn't seem to believe me, or maybe it was more Romano who didn't believe me. Spain, it seems, is more level-headed then Romano, so maybe he'll be able to understand. He might even know of a way from me to be able to find Sarah, smart as I know him to be now. With her in mind, I decide to take a gamble and trust his judgement.  
"Okay, give me the benefit of the doubt first, and let me finish explaining before asking questions." I take a calming breath.  
He looks at me a moment before he nods his head in agreement. With that, I start telling him, from the beginning, about the day of Sarah's birthday. I leave nothing out, causing him to chuckle when I mention the broken window. When it comes to the part about Sarah's gift, however, I pause. I'm not sure if I should tell him, but I know I wouldn't be able to keep it a secret much longer, anyway, so I make up my mind to simply tell him the truth.  
When I tell him about Hetalia, his eyes go wide in shock, but he says nothing. He's keeping to the agreement, it seems. The story took about an hour and a half, in all, to explain, but it felt longer, especially when Spain didn't say anything for at least an hour afterward. The silence was stifling, and it made me wonder where the hell Romano was this whole time. Not once did he come into the kitchen.  
As if summoned, Romano appears in the kitchen, his clothes dirt-free. Instead, he's wearing a striped black and white shirt with a pair of faded black jeans. The clothing molded to his body perfectly and the fit of his jeans are exceptional. There's a fluffy white towel around his shoulders and his hair looks damp. He must have just gotten out of the shower. With the image of a naked Romano in my head, I temporarily forget about the situation I'm currently in.  
I'm brought out of my daydream when Romano directs his attention to me. "Thank God you're dressed. We don't need another Feliciano running around here," he says, disgruntled.  
He takes a seat next to mine and proceeds to finish off my plate from breakfast. I'm not even bothered by this, considering that the conversation stole the rest of my appetite. We sit in silence for another half-hour before Romano breaks it.  
"Okay! What the hell is wrong with you two!?" he demands.  
Both Spain and I jump in our seats, startled out of our thoughts. We glance at each other uneasily before we direct our attention to Romano. Spain speaks first. "Romano."  
Romano visibly tenses when he hears Spain call him by his country's name. He opens his mouth, looking like he's going to start lecturing him, when I interrupt him.  
"It's okay, Romano. I know who you guys are, so there is no point in trying to hide it any longer."  
"How in the hell do you know?" He casts a glare at Spain. "Did you tell her, Idiota!?  
Spain shakes his head. "No, I did not tell her, Amigo. She already knew."  
"Well, then how the fuck does she know?!"  
Oh, goody. Looks like I'm going to have to explain myself once again. I shift my body in my chair to where I'm able to face Romano. Suspicion is evident on his face, but his eyes hold a sense of fear and confusion. I guess I would be apprehensive, too, if someone I hadn't met previously already knew my biggest secret. I begin recounting the story to him, and at first, he's quiet, but the deeper I go into the story, the more he starts to interrupt with questions and statements like, "You broke into her house?!"; "What is an anime?"; "We're a fucking TV show?!"; and "So, it's Japan's fault." Once I finish this strange and bizarre tale, it's silent...again. Really, all this silence is going to drive me insane. Well, even more insane, I suppose. It seems all we do is strike up conversations proceeded by bouts of silence right afterwards; really annoying, if you ask me.  
"So, Spain." I turn back to him. He stares at me when I call him by his country's name. "Are you going to kill me now that you know the truth and the fact that I may know too much?" I ask nervously. I really hope he doesn't. I would rather like to remain with the living.  
He looks at me for several more seconds before that familiar smile is back on his face. "No, I believe you are good. You do not come off as the kind of person to just blurt out people's secrets. Besides, I was never going to hurt you."  
"Then why were you threatening me?!" I exclaim furiously. Still, the lead weight in my stomach begins to dissipate.  
He laughs at my distress. "I only did it to mess you. Also, it helped speed things along."  
I sigh in agitation and rub my face with my hands. I can agree that it indeed help speed things along, but at the same time, I'm frustrated that he thought it necessary to scare the wits out of me to do so. Whatever, I'm not going to brood on it any longer.  
"So, we're a TV show. Did you watch it often?" Spain inquires. It's evident that he's curious to know, and from the corner of my eyes, I see Romano staring at me. I can tell he is obviously curious, too.  
"Yeah, I did," I answer honestly. "I wasn't as into as my friend Sarah is, but I watched it often enough to be able to know who everyone is and I know a few things about each person. It also helps that your personalities and tendencies stem from my world's history."  
"So, what do you know about us?" asks Romano.  
I ponder this for a moment before replying. "Well, I know you were raised by Spain when you were younger, and your little brother was raised by Austria and Hungary, along with Holy Rome. You would call Spain 'the boss' or 'jerk-bastard Span,' but I'm pretty sure you still call him a bastard. Spain is a free-loving country, has minimal worries, but can be intimidating and dangerous when provoked. You, Italy Romano, tend to avoid situations where fighting is involved, but I'm pretty sure if you wanted to, you could inflict some serious damage. I mean, you are a descendant of the Great Roman Empire."  
After my descriptions, they visibly relax, and both have small smiles on their faces. They seem pleased with what I just told them. Good, I was afraid that maybe they wouldn't like that I knew about them, and honestly, the information was minimal. I don't know much about their personal lives, and I suppose they realize this as well. That must be why they aren't getting upset with me.  
"Well, now that we know the truth, you can continue to stay here," Romano decides.  
"Really?" I say excitedly.  
He snorts and fixes a small glare at me. "Of course, Idiota! This is my house, and if I say you can stay here, then it is final!"  
Elation overwhelms me, and I can't help but to jump up to give Romano a bone-crushing hug. I mean, I had hoped that they weren't going to toss me out, but just to hear him say I could stay made me so happy. I feel Romano tense under me, but he doesn't push me away, so I linger in the embrace a few seconds longer. When I pull away from him, I notice that he's looking everywhere but at me, and his face is back to flushing. Awww. I hear Spain laughing at us and I join him. I'm just super stoked right now.  
"Okay! Since you are staying with us, you can call us by our country names when we are alone, but out in public, call us by our human names," Spain tells me. "Also, we have a world meeting in a couple of days, and you are going to accompany us. If anyone can help you get home and find your friend, it will probably be England."  
I nod my head in agreement. It sounded like a solid plan, and he was right; England might know how to get us home. My excitement grows at the prospect of possibly acquiring some more help in the search for Sarah, as meeting the other players. Maybe she ended up with some of the other countries. I hope Sarah ended up with Germany or Russia. They're her favorite characters. With any luck, she'll be at the world meeting.  
I feel the urge come over me to hug Romano again, but I resist. I probably wouldn't be able to get away with doing it a second time. I'm itching to do something, though. Maybe I should mess with him again, just for the sake of it? It's quickly becoming my favorite pastime.  
"Hey, Romano," I call out to get his attention.  
He turns his head in my direction and raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"  
"Want to play the game of rape?" I ask with a creepy tone.  
His expression of shock is priceless. "What the actual fuck?! No!"  
I lean in close to his ear and whisper in my breathiest voice, "Good, that's how it starts." I then boop him on the nose.  
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" he screams as jumps up and actually runs from the room. Neither I nor Spain notice him leave, though, because we are too busy laughing our asses off. Man, today turned out to be a good day.


	10. vODDka

_**Sarah's POV** _

  
I exit the bathroom to find an empty bedroom, which is a good, since I only have a towel as coverage. I suppose I should have dressed while I was in the bathroom, but right now it's a literal sauna. Probably easier to put on clothes once I've cooled off, anyway.  
I place the clothes out on the bed and I begin to dry off. Once I'm finished, I finally put on some suitable clothing. The bra fits, thankfully, and so does the underwear. I was right about the fit of the dress being longer, though. On Ukraine, it would have gone to just above her knees, but on me, it rests at mid-calf. I feel almost like a toddler wearing this thing, but beggars can't be choosers, and the print is rather pretty besides. When everything's adjusted, I attempt to untangle my hair with my fingers, but that in itself is a wasted effort.  
I'm still trying to comb the snarls when there is a knock at the door. "Come in," I call out.  
The door opens and in walks Russia. His usual smile is present again, but he's clearly tenser than normal. Something seems off with him, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that he isn't wearing his scarf. I've never seen him go without it, and I can't help but to notice that he looks different. I guess the article is something that I've come to associate him with. Plus the color was a shade of violet nearly identical to his eyes. Really nice. I assume that being without it makes him uncomfortable, and it begs the question: why isn't he wearing it?  
Before I ask him about the scarf and potentially out myself, he gives me an once-over and gestures to my dress. "I like what you are wearing," he tells me, sounding…shy? "I am rather fond of sunflowers." I know this already, and it gets me to thinking. Did Ukraine give me this particular dress for that particular reason? Sneaky, I muse to myself, but she won't hear any complaints from me.  
Still, the way Russia seems to hesitate over the compliments is pretty frickin' adorable. And sweet. I feel my face heat a little as I try to respond in a casual manner, but all that comes out is, "Th-thanks." Way to go, Champ.  
I've never been a great conversationalist, so an awkward silence settles over the two of us while I silently kick myself for not saying more. I want to learn more about Russia, get a better sense of him, but I'm afraid that I may ask the wrong question and give myself away.  
"So…" I begin, attempting to break the ice. Russia says nothing. We glance everywhere but at each other. He rocks back and forth on his heels a couple of times, hands clasped behind his back. Nothing is said between us for what seems like hours. Finally, after I was sure I couldn't take the awkward silence any longer, Russia breaks the ice.  
"Are you hungry? I do not think you have eaten since you have been here," he states. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, causing me to flush in embarrassment.  
He smiles and he gives a small chuckle before he addresses me again. "Well, if you would follow me, I can take you to the kitchen. I believe we can find something for you to eat."  
I follow him out of the room and into the kitchen. I haven't seen much of the house besides the meeting room, my bedroom, and the guest bedroom that Ukraine uses. From my room, we come out into a hallway that only goes left; my room is at the end of the hallway. Straight across from my bedroom is another bedroom. I only know this because the door is open. Right next to that room is Ukraine's room, and I can only guess that the room next to mine belonged to Belarus. Exiting the hallway, we can either continue going straight to another hallway that holds two different doors, one of them being the meeting room, or go down the stairs that leads to an open area and the front door. We go down the stairs and take an immediate right through another door that belongs to the kitchen.  
The kitchen is fairly large and modern with an island in the center of it. The whole thing is covered in white tile, giving the room an almost sterile feel to it. Almost every appliance is made of stainless steel and looks as if it's brand new. No canisters, no utensils, no clutter is evident. It seems as if it's never used.  
As if reading my thoughts, Russia explains that he never utilizes his kitchen, since he can't cook very well apart from a few simple things. He seems a bit embarrassed at the admission, as he rubs the back of his neck and avoids meeting my eyes.  
"It's okay," I say as I make my way around the kitchen. "I'm a decent cook, and I don't mind making me something." As I rummage around the kitchen, looking for cooking utensils, I hesitantly turn my body around to face him. "Would you like me to make you something?" I ask nervously. It's only polite of me to do so, after all, since I am using his kitchen.  
"Ah, no! No, you surely do not have to go to the trouble," he exclaims as if he is startled by the question. "It would be the height of rudeness to have my guest prepare me something."  
"I really don't mind," I tell him. "Besides, have you eaten today?"  
He doesn't answer me right away, which in turn, answers my question. I give him a small smile and turn, looking around the kitchen once more. I notice him taking a seat at the island and I assume that he is going to watch me cook.  
I glance at the clock that is hanging above the kitchen sink; it reads 11:30 A.M. It looks like we missed breakfast, so I decide to make lunch instead. I'm at a loss for what to fix, however. What to make, what to make. There's an 'ah-ha!' moment a few seconds later as I find a Russian cook book right next to the stove. I begin to leaf through it, trying to find something simple to make. I've never made Russian food before, but I'm confident that it'll turn out great.  
After perusing a few pages, I decide on potato and cheese pierogies. Simple enough, and it should only takes thirty minutes to make. I start circling the kitchen, searching for the ingredients, and with a few sidelong glances, I note that Russia's eyes stay glued to me. It's a bit unsettling to have him watch me so intently, so all I can do is focus on preparing the meal.  
It doesn't take long to find everything, and so I go to work sautéing the onions for the filling and preparing the dough. Once it's rolled out, I spoon in the filling, shape the pierogies, and then begin dropping a couple at a time gently into a boiling pot of water. So focused am I on cooking, I forget completely about Russia for a few minutes. Once the pierogies are situated, however, I turn my back to the stove to regard him.  
The wistful expression on his face abruptly vanishes when he notices my attention. His cheerful smile is back in place, and he puts his chin in one of his hands. "Your pierogies smell wonderful. I cannot remember the last time I tasted some." I color at his compliment, but I'm glad that I prepared something that made him happy. It's a goal that I hadn't realized I was reaching towards.  
"Thank you," I return shyly, granting him a smile in return.  
"Of course, Принцесса. Now, would you like something to drink? It is the least I could do," he offers. I nod my assent and turn back to the stove to tend to the pierogies.  
Ten minutes later, the pierogies are divvied onto two plates, and I bring them over to the island, where Russia has already placed the glasses and silverware. I'm glad that we're eating in such an informal setting, as I hear that Russians take their meals very seriously. I wait for him to take the first bite.  
The look of delight on his face is an image that will be etched into my brain forever. Excited now, I scoop a huge forkful of pierogies into my mouth. The burning sensation is instantaneous, and I desperately reach for the glass of water that Russia had placed in front of me. I take a couple of very large gulps before the realization strikes me: that's not water.  
My eyes begin tearing and I think my lungs are quite literally on fire. I try to hold the choking at bay, and it appears I'm fairly successful, as Russia looks more impressed than concerned. "Wow," he comments, his eyes shining in admiration, "you really like your vodka."  
"Yep," I reply in a strangled voice. "That's me. Drink it every day."  
"Truly?"  
Oh God, I can't take it anymore. "NO! It feels like the seven layers of Hell are in my mouth right now!" I cry out as I jump up and dash toward the sink. I quickly turn the faucet handle and position my head under the spigot. Cool, blessed relief immediately washes over my mouth, and I take several long drinks before I snatch my head away and switch off the water. I'm so mortified, I want to die right here.  
Unfortunately, I still have Russia to contend with, so I force myself to turn around and face him. His reaction is not what I expected.  
Russia is howling with laughter. I'm astonished. I've seen him let loose the occasional giggle, but never the full-blown mirth that he's displaying currently. He's clutching his sides, bent over the waist, laughing so hard that he's turning red in the face. It begins to subside, and he's able to look at me, but as soon as he does so, he's hysterical again. I blink a couple of times, slightly lost, and then I notice that I still have water dribbling from the corners of my mouth. I wipe it hastily and hide my face in my hands. Kill me now.  
It slowly quiets, and I sneak a look in between my fingers. Russia is back to staring me, and the look in his eyes is one that I, for once, am unable to identify. I drop my arms.  
"I am sorry for not realizing that you might not have preferred vodka," he apologizes quietly. "And I hope you forgive me for laughing at your discomfort." His expression turns contrite, and he hunches his shoulders as if expecting the worst.  
Now that the sensation of gargling lava has diminished, my humor returns full-force. I give him a wide smile and return to my seat. "No, it was funny," I argue. "I'm just not used to alcohol, and you have to admit, it's called 'Russian water' for a reason." My smile turns sheepish.  
"Oops," Russia says after a few seconds, and I laugh.  
As it seems we're essentially done with the meal, Russia takes it upon himself to clear the island of dishes and store the remainder of the food. While he's occupied, I decide to check out the living room that's situated across from the kitchen. It looks like it would be a good place to relax, because while it's spacious, the center of the room is dominated by a giant, overstuffed sofa. It looks soft and plush, and the color, a yellow reminiscent of the inner petals of a sunflower, should look tacky among the sedated brown of the carpet, but it merely looks inviting. The wall opposite me is dominated by a huge brick fireplace upon whose mantle hangs a massive flat-screen TV. Two wooden bookshelves crammed with DVD cases flank either side of the fireplace, indicating that Russia may be a movie buff.  
I walk up to a bookshelf to inspect his collection, and I'm delighted to find titles such as Dumbo, Aladdin, and my favorite, The Lion King. I should be surprised that Russia was such a big fan of Disney, but I remember hearing somewhere that most nations of Hetalia consider Walt Disney one of America's greatest triumphs (although they wouldn't dare say it out loud). I blink as a pleasant heaviness seeps into my limbs.  
I'm about to go to the other bookshelf when I hear Russia offer from behind, "We may watch one of those if you wish."  
I spin around to respond and then frown as I consider it. "I would love to, but you have so many movies, I wouldn't even begin to know what to pick."  
"Close your eyes and pick one, then," he suggests, and I smile, as it's not a bad idea. If only all of life's choices could be solved that way. Following his directions, I turn and close my eyes. I run my fingers along the spines of the cases, choosing the third shelf from the bottom. I pinch one to the left and slide it out, opening my eyes as I do so.  
And gulp. Oh, boy. The name of the movie is Dead Daughters, and judging by the name and the artwork on the front of the case, it's a scary one. I don't do well with scary movies. Maura is always trying to convince me to watch some with her, but avoiding them is one of the few things I dig my heels in about. She doesn't resent me for it, thankfully, as she knows that everyone has their hang-ups. People are always surprised when they find that she's wiser than she appears.  
The thought of my friend and what might have become of her dampens my mood a little bit, but I try to push past it, as I realize there's not much I can do for the moment without risking myself in the process. I know she wouldn't want that for me, so I resolve to wait until the world meeting to create a plan of action.  
Still, there's the matter of the movie. In this, I only have myself to blame. I don't want to appear flighty in front of Russia, so I swallow my reservations and whirl around, holding the DVD up in the air. "Found one!" I call out with a forced smile on my face. Russia spies the title of the movie and claps excitedly. It appears I found a favorite of his. Resigned, I give him the case so that he can set everything up while I go and wait on the couch.  
Once the player reads the disc, Russia comes and sits down on the couch. There's about a foot between us, and I feel myself shift slightly in his direction as the couch dips with his weight. I cross my legs and bob my foot. He's bouncing his knee. I begin to play with my fingernails. He starts twiddling his thumbs. The previous heaviness deepens now, and I'm feeling slightly light-headed. In a good way. It's now that I remember that I can't hold my liquor. I look out of the corner of my eye at Russia, whose face is in profile. It's such a lovely profile, too. His nose is long and sharp, his lips full, his forehead and chin strong. Just such a lovely, lovely man. I begin wondering what it would be like to kiss him, to do…other things. My face, if at all possible, grows even warmer, but I just want to lean in closer to him and-SARAH, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER, YOU FLOOZY. I mentally shake myself out of my stupor. Well, as much as I can, considering the circumstances.  
Russia plays the movie, and I begin to feel conflicted. I'm enjoying myself because of the alcohol, but I'm frightened by the movie. Every time there's a scary moment, I feel myself tremble. I squint my eyes when I feel something is about to happen, and jealously occasionally overtakes me as I see that Russia isn't at all bothered by it. Of course, he has seen the movie before anyway, I try and reassure myself.  
At one particularly violent scene, I'm startled so badly that I jump, landing haphazardly across Russia. I don't think it registers for either one of us what happened, as he's about as focused on the movie as I am. This is at least what I tell myself when suddenly I feel his arm curl reassuringly around my shoulder. We're positively cuddling now, and neither one of us make a move to rectify this error.  
The movie is not so scary anymore, and the pleasantly weighted effect of the alcohol strengthens, erasing all of my nerves and leaving contentment in its place. This is nice. This is so very nice. My eyelids start to drop, and I fall asleep to the clean scent of evergreen filling my nostrils.  
Someone gently shakes me to awareness. I refuse to open my eyes, instead choosing to nestle deeper into something warm and soothing. "Sarah, the movie is over," a voice informs me softly. I feel a hand run briefly through my hair. My eyes flutter open, and my view is met with gray wool. I'm confused, so I look up dazedly and meet a pair of beautiful violet eyes. So pretty, I think. I want closer. I listen to the voice and stretch closer to the gaze, notice that it, too, is leaning towards me, and something's about to happen, and-  
"Vanya! I'm back!" Ukraine's voice calls out. There's footsteps heading towards the living room.  
We both blink, shock filling both our gazes as we realize the gravity of what has just happen, and Russia scrambles away from me, accidentally knocking me backward. Flailing my arms, trying to gain purchase on anything, I pin-wheel backwards onto the carpet with a thud.  
Russia's older sister enters the room a few seconds later. She notices me sprawled out on the floor while Russia stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room. "Is everything alright in here?" she asks hesitantly. I stand up, brush myself off, and try to put on a convincing smile.  
"Yes, everything is fine. I just fell over. Clumsy, you know." I give a nervous chuckle.  
"Oh, are you hurt?" she asks me with a worried expression.  
"I'm fine," I say emphatically.  
She gives me a warm smile and directs her attention towards her brother. "Vanya, I have mended your scarf for you," she informs him. That is when I notice that she is holding something in her hands. So Ukraine had his scarf this whole time…  
Russia, who had been quiet, immediately perks up and crosses to Ukraine to retrieve his scarf. "Thank you, Sister," he tells her gratefully, and then he puts on the purple article.  
"It was no trouble at all." Suddenly, her cheerful demeanor diminishes, only to be replaced by sadness. "Vanya, I am sure Natalia didn't mean all of those things."  
He stiffens at the mention of Belarus and at the reminder of what had transpired this morning. He glances briefly towards me before answering. "Sister, now is not the time to discuss this. We shall discuss this when our sister learns that she cannot get away with threatening my guests."  
"But Vanya, she is young. She does not know any better. Just let her come back," Ukraine entreats with a pleading look.  
"Stop making excuses for her, Sister. She is old enough to know better, and should be held accountable for her own actions. Your defending her only encourages her behavior. She is not allowed back here until she apologizes to me and to Sarah."  
"Maybe what she did was not right, but I'm sure she was only looking out for you. She cares about you."  
"I will not be putting up with her selfish actions any longer. Katsuya, this conversation is over," he tells her with an air of finality.  
Ukraine looks as if she is about to cry, but I never see if she does, for she leaves. Russia and I stand awkwardly in the living, neither of us looking at each other. I start fiddling with the edge of my dress. God, what do I say?  
"I believe I must apologize, Принцесса," I hear him say. I glance at him and I see that he is looking at me with his face full of remorse. "You should not have to deal with this.  
"Oh! Umm…it's alright. Really. You shouldn't apologize," I assure him hastily, trying to get him to stop.  
He doesn't say anything to that but he gives me a slight nod. "Well, at least you are not bothered by the events." He starts to head out of the living room. "I will go and shower now. When I am finished, I would like to ask you a few questions," he stops walking right before he exits the door and faces me. "Is that alright with you?"  
"Yes." I nod my head. He studies me for a second before he turns around and leaves the room.

I have been sitting on the couch this whole time, waiting for him, trying to figure out on what kind of questions he will want to ask me. I have a vague idea, so I try rehearsing my answers before he returns.  
When he comes back, an hour has passed. He is wearing another grey wool sweater paired with black slacks. The sweater seems bulky, but probably comfortable. I keep wondering if there's extra room underneath his clothes, if he fills them out with pudge, or if he's just intimidatingly muscled. Guess I'll never know. His scarf is settled comfortably around his neck. As he settles himself onto the couch, next to me, I catch a whiff of evergreen. The smell is coming from Russia. So that's what I smelled earlier.  
He turns his body to face mine, and he's close enough that I'm able to see that his hair is still a bit damp. It makes him look sexy as fuck. Sarah. Focus! Maura would probably be cheering me on right now. I give myself a mental slap and give him my full attention.  
"I am sorry it took me so long. I had to make a few phone calls," he informs me.  
"It's fine. I understand." Sort-of.  
"Very well. Now, I have a few questions to ask and I would appreciate an honest answer to each of them." He gives me a serious look. "Is that understood?"  
I nod in assent, and in turn, he gives me a reassuring smile. "Good, then this should be easy. First question." His face is thoughtful as he considers how to word it. "Are there more people like you here?"  
Before I answer, I start thinking. I can only assume Maura is here as well, since she was with me when I passed out at home. Then again, maybe she's still in my room, freaking out because I had disappeared.  
"I think my friend Maura is here," I respond, "but at the same time, I'm not so sure. I haven't seen her since I arrived, and even if she did end up here, I have no idea on where she could be."  
"Are there any more besides her?"  
"No one that I can think of."  
"Okay, next. How is it you fell through a hole in the ceiling that wasn't there before?"  
"I seriously cannot tell you how. I have no idea myself." But it would be nice to know. He nods encouragingly.  
"Hmm, okay. Are you really from the States?"  
"Yes, I am."  
Russia steeples his hands in front of his mouth as if completely intent on my next response. "Would you happen to be from another world?"  
I don't answer immediately. I can feel my heart start to race and my hands growing clammy. Oh, boy. How should I answer that? I debate whether to tell him the truth or to outright lie. However, I did say I would be honest with him. It's not like he can send me back…right? I take a deep breath and give him the answer that he's already suspected.  
I'm expecting surprise, but instead, I merely see acceptance. Now I'm the one who's surprised. "How did you guess?" I question.  
He shrugs. "Call it the portal randomly appearing through the roof." I sincerely think that this is the first time I've experienced sarcasm from Russia in any form, TV or face-to-face. I'm rather amazed, quite honestly. But I'm glad that I was able to answer his questions without incident.  
"I do have one final question, however."  
Oh, this isn't going to go well, whatever it is. Still, I brace myself. "I'll answer to the best of my ability," I assure him.  
He dips his head in acknowledgement before he continues. "I have come to note that though you arrive from your home to a world not your own, you have a certain familiarity with particular…facets of this place. My comrades and I, namely. And I quite distinctly recall the words "No way" leaving your mouth when you first gazed upon me. Why is this?" On this particular issue, he seems genuinely stumped.  
"I, uh-" Shitshitshitshitshit, how the hell am I supposed to tell him without sounding certifiably insane?  
"Yes?" Russia prompts.  
I take in a deep breath, blow it out. Repeat. Close my eyes, open them to meet his gaze head-on. "In my world, you were a fictional character on a Japanese cartoon. Russia is a real country in my world, but your human depiction itself was not real. That's my real secret."  
Russia draws back, as if stunned. He quickly composes himself, though, and blurts out, "So it is Japan's fault, then."  
I'm taken aback by his reaction. "I-I guess so."  
He lifts his arm to stroke his chin thoughtfully. "Whether I am fictional in this world of yours, I am of flesh and blood here, so it is no matter," he decides practically. "But I must know, how much insight does this show of yours give?"  
I waver before answering. "A fair amount," I say after a time.  
This earns a nod. "But you would not use this to the disadvantage of my comrades and I, da?"  
"No, of course not!" My protest is swift. I'm slightly insulted that he would even ask such a thing, no matter that I know he's merely double-checking.  
At this, he claps his hands together with his token cheerful smile. "In that case, I am finished with my inquiry. I think for now, we shall keep this information between us, for your safety. I thank you for trusting me with this knowledge."  
This exchange certainly didn't turn out the way I expected. I'm still a little addled, though from the alcohol or the cumulative interactions with Russia, I can't be sure.


	11. The PUNCH Line

_**Maura's POV** _

  
The next morning, I find myself rudely awoken to the sound of someone banging what I presume are fists against the bedroom door. See, I'm used to this kind of wake-up call from my dearest aunt, so I yell sleepily into my pillow for her to leave me the fuck alone. I have to deal with her shit when I'm awake, so when she starts on me at my weakest moments, the claws come out. Or at least they do now, having finally grown a backbone. The banging stops and I hear the door open.  
"Damn you, haven't you taken enough?" I spit out as I sit up and prepare myself for the oncoming…argument, when I pause and come back to myself. Romano is standing in the middle of the room, a bundle of fresh clothes in his arms, studying me with a concerned expression. There's understanding in his eyes with discovering me at my most vulnerable, and I can't think of anything flippant to utter to ease the sudden tension. Unconsciously I attempt to smooth what I already know is an unsightly bedhead.  
He casts his eyes downward and sets the clothes on the dresser against the wall, looking about as awkward as I'm feeling at this very moment. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he clasped his hands and started whistling. Hell, I'm tempted myself, but it didn't feel right for the time being.  
"So…you brought me some clean clothes," I venture slowly, all the while mentally making sure that I had on pants this time.  
"So I did," he replies in much the same tone. I swear I see him shuffle his feet. "I, uh, wanted to make sure you were dressed appropriately for the world meeting today."  
"Thaaaaaanks," I tell him sarcastically, and suddenly the tension is broken. I see the smallest of smiles flit across his face before he settles into what I have dubbed the "Goddamnit, Maura" scowl.  
"Yeah, well. We can't have you looking homeless, now can we? Once word gets out that you have been staying with us, people will talk."  
"You know, Romano, I never pegged you for the type who would even give a shit about that."  
He considers this and shrugs. "I suppose I don't, but I would rather avoid the hassle, anyway." He opens his mouth to say something else, appears to decide against it, and turns around. "Go and prepare yourself, Weirdo. We leave in thirty minutes," he says imperiously before heading out of the room. I stick out my tongue and make faces to his retreating back before I push myself off of the bed.  
I gather the clothes together and exit the room behind him. Yesterday, I had discovered that there was a bathroom just down the hallway, so I make quick work of a shower before I dry off and don the clothes that were provided for me. Once again, I'm sans underwear, but I'm thankfully getting used to the feeling. The shirt is another button-down, red this time, and the fit is much the same. The color does help my complexion a little, thankfully. He left me with another pair of black shorts, sadly, but they're presentable. My shoes are my own.  
Looking at my reflection, I frown. I look very…boyish. Well, aside from long brown hair and the boobs. I sigh, comb my hair, brush my teeth, and cheer myself up with the fact that maybe I'll hear some news about Sarah this morning.

* * *

 

  
I don't even know what to do with myself right now. I've never seen so many nations gathered together in the show, much less the crowd that's present now. I'm not known for being introverted, but even I feel my throat tighten a little in panic. What if they aren't nearly as accepting as Spain and Romano (well, accepting for him) are? The worry must have shown on my face because Spain turns to me and gives me a reassuring smile. "Relax, Preciosa. Everything is going to be fine." Romano appears not to have noticed, or maybe he just doesn't care. I take a deep, calming breath, and nod to Spain. "That's the spirit," he tells me, and I chuckle because I'm reminded of yesterday's exchange. Despite everything that's happen, I think I found a really good friend in him.  
"So where is the actual meeting being held?" I ask him, studying the various countries now that my nerves had eased a little. I swear I can pick out people like Turkey, Finland (one of the Nordic five), and is that…Belgium? It's safe to assume so, as she's standing with a man who is obviously Netherlands, her brother. Even safer, as her head turns in our direction. Her eyes pass briefly over me, curiosity evident, and then they light up when they land on Spain and Romano. I'm suddenly and painfully reminded of the portion of the show where Romano had a crush on her. Oh, great. I feel my body slump a little.  
Oh, God, she's walking over here. "Spain! Romano! It is so nice to see you!" She pulls them both into a hug. They reply in kind and everyone lets go. Belgium turns her focus solely to me. "And who is your new friend?" she asks brightly, her eyes warm. Dammit, I want to hate her for her history (ha, ha) with Romano, but she seems so nice that I don't have the heart. I go ahead and get the introduction out of the way. "My name's Maura. It's nice to meet you," I tell her, sticking out my hand. She takes it, shakes it firmly, and releases it.  
"A pleasure, Maura. I'm Belgium!" Dear God, she's adorable. She's a couple of inches shorter than me, her hair fluffy and blonde, eyes a forest green. She's wearing a hunter-green business suit, and I frown at my casual attire. Come to think of it, everyone here is dressed rather formally. Except me. I had noted this with Spain and Romano before we had left for the meeting, but I thought it was just Romano being Italian. He looked fantastic, too, to the point where I was tempted to demand that he wore nothing but suits for the rest of eternity. But I obviously don't have the authority. Right, authority. Countries. Topic.  
Belgium seems to sense my distress, but she doesn't draw attention to it. I'm thankful for that. I realize that Spain never answered my question, and I go to ask him, but something stops me. While Belgium is walking away, I notice that his expression is a little bit too tender to be described as "familial." In fact, a conservative soul might term it "outright longing." I grin to myself. Who knew that Spain was crushing so hard on Belgium? Then another thought hits me: is Romano aware of this? I start to take his sleeve to get his attention and grill him about it, but I'm cut off by a-  
"Veeeeeeeeee~ Romano!" a voice shouts excitedly from across the lobby. The three of us turn our heads and behold Italy, our host, as he advances toward us at a remarkable pace. I blink a couple of times. I'm not sure how Italy manages the squinty-eyed expression while appearing entirely normal, but you have to give the guy credit. I raise my hand half-heartedly in greeting, but it goes unnoticed as Italy appears to only have eyes for his brother. The flying leap Italy makes towards Romano is easily side-stepped, and the younger brother goes skidding.  
Romano's expression is one of disgruntlement that rivals even the ones directed toward me. I'm both impressed and intrigued. We direct our attention to Italy, who picks himself up with good humor and brushes the dirt off of his dark blue slacks. Romano is the first to speak.  
"What do you want, Brother?" he asks in annoyance. Italy's expression, blank at first, shifts to a beaming smile.  
"Why, Romano! I'm just so excited to see you! It's been so-a long since I've seen that cute face of-oh, hello," he interrupts himself as he finally registers my presence. "What do we have here? Oh, you're so bella!" He rushes over and takes my hands. "What is your name, my beautiful flower?"  
I look with alarm to Spain and Romano as if to ask, is this guy for real, but Spain is trying, unsuccessfully, to contain his laughter and Romano looks like he's contemplating murder. Deeming them useless, I paste on my most winning smile and answer with, "Maura. And you must be Italy."  
"Ve~ you know who I am? This makes me so happy! Come, Maura. We must walk together and speak of all our hopes and dreams and be the best of friends!" He starts dragging me along with a surprisingly solid grip, and the revelation hits me that next to his brother, Italy may seem effeminate, but he, too, is a full-grown man. I'm racking my brain, searching for a polite excuse to extract myself from his grasp, when Romano "saves" me.  
"Hey! Let go of Mau-let go of the...the bitch!" he orders furiously to Italy, which causes the younger brother to stop in his tracks.  
I nearly collide with Italy's back. He turns around with an expression of utter disbelief for his brother. "Romano! You would say such things to such a sweet donna? You would insult her, when you are famed for your treatment of women? Why?" he demands, putting an arm defensively around my shoulders. I never imagined that I would have a champion in Italy, but it's a warming feeling. I don't think anyone has ever taken up for me. Probably because no one ever thought that I needed someone to be on my side. Hell, I didn't even know how much I needed it up until this very moment. Italy's observation of Romano's behavior brings home the fact that while I am a woman, a gender supposedly revered by Romano, he treats me like a leper. My stomach sinks.  
"You don't know her like I do," Romano mutters, and he walks away. I can sense multiple meanings to those words, but damn if I know what they are.  
Spain shoots me an apologetic look, appearing uncomfortable for the first time since I've met him. "I'll talk to him," he promises me gently, and then he heads after Romano and into the auditorium.  
Now it's just me and Italy left, his arm still around my shoulders. He removes it and takes my hand in an almost brotherly fashion and starts leading me towards the room. "I am sorry on behalf of my brother," he begins as we walk. "I don't know why he's so angry like this towards a woman."  
I give him a small smile and a light laugh, trying to appear carefree. "Oh, that would be me. I guess you could say that when we interact, similar tendencies surface." Italy gives an "oooh" of understanding and chuckles.  
"It sounds like he has met his match then." The child-like quality of his voice is gone, and it's a startling contrast. He sounds almost…wise. I wonder how many people had the privilege of experiencing him like this. He pauses for a moment before the double doors of the auditorium to give my hand a pat. "But deep down, he is good, ve? You will see!" The bright tone reappears. "Also, we need to take you shopping for clothes. We can't have such a bella donna running around in men's clothes. It would be almost as bad as a nightgown, I suppose you could say." This last part is accompanied by a glint of mischief in his brown eyes. Like mine.  
Which widen at his words. No, he couldn't possibly mean-? "Sarah?" I demand, almost desperately, my fingers now clutching his. Italy beams and gently pries his hand from mine. "I thought you two might know each other. She's currently in the conference r-" I don't give him time to finish as I fling open the doors and begin looking around for my best friend. Germany or Russia, I chant to myself. Germany or Russia. My eyes scan the room frantically for a violet scarf, since that would be the easiest marker. After several seconds, I spot the familiar article towards the front of the auditorium, seated behind a podium with a short girl wearing a sunflower-printed dress in a chair next to him. Huh? Sarah? In a dress? Weirder things have happened, I remind myself, and sprint down the aisle. I ignore the sidelong glances and outright stares as I attempt to reach her. I'm only about twenty feet from Sarah when I collide into something extremely solid.  
"Halt," a deep and thickly-accented voice orders me. I freeze for a second as the familiar sound of a German accent washes over me. I glance up into a pair of hard blue eyes, and I'm feeling slightly sentimental at the moment. This is someone who literally represents my homeland, my birthright, my heritage. I'd have to worry about it later, unfortunately, as he's the only thing standing in between me and the only person that I had ever felt close to.  
"Who are you, and what is your reason for being here?" Germany interrogates, his arm folded in front of him in what is meant to be an intimidating pose. Normally, it might have worked, but as Romano pointed out, normality isn't exactly my strong point.  
"Alles, was Sie wissen müssen, ist , dass ich hier bin, um deine Mutter zu ficken. Arschloch." I raise my eyebrow in challenge. The whole room grows silent, and Germany looks completely dumbfounded. I would say this is because I spoke to him in his native tongue, but I think it's more of that fact that I essentially called him an asshole and told him I was going to bang his mom.  
It's silent for a few long seconds, and then people around me break into applause. Germany's facial muscles are twitching at this point, but I don't know if it's humor or an aneurism. I don't care if it's one or the other, honestly, as the room has quieted down, and I hear a tentative, "Maura?"  
"Sarah?" I call out, trying my best to reach her. I crane my head around Germany, who's being a pain in the ass, and I see Sarah get up from her seat. I try to circle around the fellow German, but he stretches out an arm, nearly clotheslining me. I stagger back and begin fuming.  
"Listen here, Pencil Dick. There's only one thing I'm concerned about, and it certainly isn't you, so get the fuck out of my way," I continue quietly in German. I think the whole of the auditorium is paying rapt attention to our exchange now.  
He doesn't reply to this, and I almost wish he would. Instead, he says, "If you are here with dishonorable intentions toward Sarah, I cannot allow you to go any furth-"  
"Who the fuck do you think taught her German, you pea brain?" I demand, amazed at the denseness of the man in front of me. Apparently this is the one option he hadn't considered, so intent was he to make sure Sarah was safe. Normally, I would applaud him for his dedication in keeping her safe, but now it's merely infuriating. There's a moment of clarity, and his expression softens a degree, the barest trace of contrition appearing on his face. There would probably be more acceptance evident, had I not so publicly and soundly insulted him. Maybe later his humor will return.  
"She mentioned you," he informs me, and steps out of my path.  
Sarah is now heading my way, stark relief stamped across her features. I begin dashing towards her, and we're not even five feet apart when we both take a synchronized nose dive. I skid across several inches of navy carpet, suddenly thankful for the Romano's button down that saved my elbows from rug burn. I look up, and I see that Sarah rolls to the side, her dress bunched around her legs, and we're still for a few seconds. There's a collective intake of breath, the silence enough that a pin drop would be deafening. We scramble those last few feet and then we're in each other's arms, hugging each other so tightly that we're probably about to do some serious rib-cracking. The sheer weight that's been lifted off my shoulders makes me not care. Suddenly, the whole room erupts into cheers.  
"I was so worried about you," I utter into her hair. She's trembling, but still she emphatically nods her head.  
"I would have gone looking for you," she explains, "but I know you would have skinned me alive had I gone out on my own." She's right, of course. Hell, I'm the ballsier of the two of us, and even I had the good sense to keep to a place that was somewhat familiar. I finally release her and bring myself to a stand, extending an arm to help pull her to her feet. She accepts, and I hoist her up. An identical grin breaks on both our faces.  
"Maura," Sarah whispers. "We're in fucking Hetalia."  
"I know," I exclaim (albeit quietly). We're about to engage in a mutual happy dance when someone clears their throat.  
"Pardon me, but it seems that some of us haven't made your acquaintance yet." I turn and see England walking forward, a smile of welcome on his face. He offers his hand. "I'm-"  
"England," I supply with a grin. This causes his face to blank. "It's not as if everyone isn't going to find out soon enough. Spain, Romano, and I suspect Russia are probably aware of the situation already. I'm Maura."  
"Spain and Romano? So that's where you've kept hidden," he concludes, taking my announcement in stride. "Sarah fell through a ceiling. Onto Russia's lap."  
I turn and study her. "Not bad," I grant. "Not bad at all. But I can probably do one just as good."  
"Oh?" he asks, intrigued.  
I lean in conspiratorially and say, "I landed in Romano's bed. The look on his face was priceless."  
England's eyes widen, and he begins laughing rather loudly. "Brilliant!" he declares. "Bloody brilliant."  
"By the way, thanks for Harry Potter. I owe you one."  
"Five points to Gryffindor!" he tells me before walking away.  
Apparently England's laughter prompts others to follow, and soon I'm bombarded by introductions.  
America jostles everyone to be first in line. Typical American, I think to myself. While I may have lived in the United States for six years, the vast majority of my life was spent in Germany with my father. I don't identify as an American citizen, as the only thing that ever truly tied me to the country was my friendship with Sarah. Otherwise, there's nothing for me there.  
America apparently doesn't share the same sentiment, as he runs towards me with his arms outstretched. "If you're close to Sarah, you must be an American! Ye-yeah, 'MURICA! We're the best!"  
He goes to put his arms around me. I place a hand in front of me, palm outward, and shake my head. "Einfach keine. I'm Maura, Sarah's German friend." I deliberately thicken my accent. He stops a hair's breadth from me, his expression downtrodden. Denied.  
Japan is next, and his greeting is brief, but polite. I respond in kind.  
I spot Canada, who's leaning against a podium with a thoughtful expression. His face registers surprise when I meander towards him, though he gives me a shy smile anyway. I skip the introduction and go straight for an embrace. He jolts a little, probably startled by the familiarity, but he returns the hug with a light squeeze. "I'm glad you can see me," he murmurs and pulls away. The hesitant smile on his face grows wider. "Sarah is able to, as well."  
"Of course I can," I assure him. "Where we come from, Canada is one of the few countries with their priorities straight." I punch him lightly on the arm. "You're doing a great job. Really."  
"And your name?" he requests.  
"Maura. It's so nice to finally meet y-"  
"Hey! Maura!" America calls out. I whip my head around. "Who are you talking to?"  
I sigh in frustration and glance at Canada. He shakes his head minutely, as if to say, I really don't want to deal with their shit right now. I nod almost imperceptibly and give him a parting wave. There's one more person that I want to take stock of before I'm satisfied with the question of Sarah's well-being, so I attempt to make a beeline straight towards the individual. I'm intercepted by the one person who I was sincerely hoping to avoid.  
"Ohonhonhon!"  
Well, fuck. I don't even bother to smother the groan as I halt in my tracks. Closing my eyes briefly, I mentally pray for the fortitude to maintain a somewhat civil interaction with France. I'm a realist, however. I suppose you could even say I straddle the line into pessimism, but the attempt must be made, right?  
"Hullo, France," I greet warily, crossing my arms in a pose quite similar to Germany's. Hey, I never said it was completely ineffective.  
This seems to be the wrong thing to do, however, as it only serves to divert his attention to my rack. "Ooh la la! Your breasts are just as magnifique as Sarah's. Oh, but you are wearing a bra," he adds tragically. Sadly, this doesn't last. "No matter, it frames those beauties to perfection!" I'm uncertain whether he even realizes he's ogling an actual person anymore, and at the mention of Sarah and how he might have treated her similarly, I feel my face begin to heat with rage.  
"Ahem," I begin evenly, though it has no effect.  
"-and such long, lustrous, curly hair. I would love to have it trail over my body. And those hips! Why, I-"  
"'Scuse me-" I try cutting in again.  
"-would continue long into the night until our needs have both been doubly satisfied. Afterward, we would-"  
"France?-" I ask sweetly, silently begging for deliverance.  
"-the pudding could be eaten or used later. I, myself, prefer whipped cream on a woman's p-"  
WHAM.  
I don't even recall it happening, but the next thing I see is France clutching his nose, blood pouring from his nostrils. My fist is still positioned in front of his face, so I withdraw it and keep it clenched at my side. Nobody's moving a muscle, and looking around, I note varying expressions of admiration, shock, and disapproval. I revert my attention back to France, whose countenance is lewd no longer. Instead, there's outright terror in his eyes. Good. He drops his gaze to hands he pulls away from his face. There are trickles of blood between his fingers, and when he registers what has transpired, his eyes roll back in his head. He drops.  
I scan the room until I lock eyes with Russia, who's standing next to Sarah once more. Mine narrow as I send a silent message: we're going to have a discussion, you and I. He holds up his hand in a gesture of surrender. He probably thinks it wise to placate the crazy woman.  
I cross over to France's unconscious person, sprawled haphazardly on the carpet. Leaning over, I place my hands on my knees to study him.  
"I'm Maura, by the way," I tell him cheerfully. With the formal introduction over with, I begin looking for a place to sit. "Thought you might like to know."


	12. We Interupt This Broadcast...

**_Sarah's POV_ **

  
"So, you are really friends with that…person?" Russia whispers to me.  
"Yeah. She's my best friend," I tell him proudly.  
We are both standing on the uppermost rise at the back of the auditorium. Only a few of the nations have taken seats, but the rest are loitering around, trying to buy time before the meeting starts. I hear most of them talking about Maura. She hasn't been here an hour yet and already most of the nation's know who she is. She has caused quite a commotion. A few of them are praising her for standing up to Germany and punching France in the face, but there are also those who are saying she shouldn't be disturbing everyone with her rudeness. Seriously, some of these people need to loosen up a bit.  
He gives me a skeptical look before his gaze moves back to Maura, who seems to be searching for a place to sit. He studies her for a moment before turning back to me. Then back to her, then back to me. "Seriously?"  
"Why is that so hard to believe?" I ask him defensively.  
"It is just..." He hesitates. "You are so quiet and gentle and kind, and she is so….not."  
"No, and that's why we work so well. We balance each other out. I calm her down when she needs it, and she pushes me to consider myself more. Like encouragement. She may be…brash, but she's never been unkind where it wasn't warranted."  
"She sounds like a good friend," he agrees.  
We smile at each other, though they quickly fade as we simply gaze. We're still staring at one another when Germany walks onto the stage that is situated at the bottom of the auditorium. "Five minutes before the meeting begins!" he shouts, grabbing everyone's attention.  
"Sarah!" I hear Maura call out. I tear my eyes away from Russia and try to locate Maura's voice. I find her seated in a chair next to a door to the left of the stage, and she is waving at me frantically, trying to catch my attention. When she sees that she has it, she points to a chair next to her, indicating that it's is for me.  
I give her a thumbs up, letting her know I understand her meaning. I twist my head back to Russia, only to find a vacant seat. He's heading towards the stage, taking a position on the lowest rise. Looking around, I notice that the other members of the G8 are also going towards the same seats. Guess they all sit next to each other.  
I leave the walkway and cross to where Maura is seated, taking advantage of the empty chair. "So, what do you think they'll talk about?" she wonders aloud.  
I shrug my shoulders. "I'm not sure. Maybe they'll talk about serious issues that they are having."  
"You're probably right," she peers around the auditorium for a moment before she changes the subject. "How was living with Russia for the past few days been?" she inquires casually. I don't trust the gleam in her eye.  
I avoid meeting her knowing stare, and instead focus on the pattern of the dress I'm wearing. "It was…fine."  
"Just…fine?" Her voice is laced with skepticism.  
"Well...we almost…kissed?" I say uncertainly. Honestly, I'm not quite sure myself if that was what was happening at the time. My mind was foggy from the alcohol, so I might have misconstrued the situation.  
I'm expecting one of two things: either Maura will be completely happy that I'm finally branching out and stepping up my sexual game, or she's going to be concerned because we've only been here a few days, so what all could we know about Russia and his character (aside from the obvious, that is)? However, she shows no expression apart from a quirked eyebrow, as if waiting for me to continue.  
When she doesn't elaborate further on her response (or lack thereof), I add hastily, "I could be wrong, though. My judgment was probably skewed by the vodka I accidentally drank-" Now both eyebrows raise. "-so who am I to say for sure?" Nervous now, I wring my hands together, wishing for some indication of her thoughts. Finally, I just give up and ask. "What do you think?"  
Maura leans back in her chair and folds her arms, as if pondering how to answer. Finally, she says, "Sarah, we've been friends for six years. That's a long time to get to know someone. So, knowing someone so well, I would know that you, for example, are a very intelligent girl. I know you're cautious about with whom you associate for fear of criticism. I know you deserve to happy. Tallying up these factors, the conclusion I've drawn is that you're a grown woman, and you can take care of yourself." Now she leans forward. "Knowing this won't stop me from worrying, or from sticking up for you, and it won't stop me from interrogating anyone that might show interest in you. But if something's going to make you happy, then who am I to tell you 'yes' or 'no?'" She gives me a smile, then. "But really? Just 'almost?' What the fuck is wrong with him?"  
"Ukraine apparently has awful timing," I grumble, earning a laugh from Maura. Then I perk up. "So what about you? I heard that you've been staying with Romano and Spain. Anyone catch your eye?"  
Suddenly, the smile slips off her face, and her expression turns…self-recriminating? She stares at me for a few seconds, and informs me flatly that there's no one. I know she's not telling the truth, but far be it from me to grill someone who clearly wants to avoid the topic.  
At this point, Germany calls the meeting to a start and we end our conversation there. The nations take their seats, and they begin taking turns voicing the issues of their respective people, whether it's internal or a conflict between multiple countries. Not surprisingly, almost everyone has a problem to voice. Also not surprisingly, America's solution to everything is to build a giant robot. EVERYTHING. With each suggestion, I would face-palm myself from his sheer stupidity. I can't believe I come from him.  
We're about forty-five minutes in when it's America's actual turn to bring up concerns about his nation. This is going to be good, I think to myself, because let's face it, what isn't wrong with The United States? The growing chasm between the middle class and the impoverished, the national debt, gay rights legislation, corruption within the government, growing concerns that America is turning into a police state, issues of healthcare, you name it. I'm just sitting here wondering if he's going to have to take three hours just to describe them all, or bring up one he feels is the foremost.  
Apparently, it's the latter, as he stands and addresses the rising concern of continuing education and the mammoth debt it brings to the people pursuing it. I sit up straighter in my chair with interest, as this is a topic that I've had some personal experience with. A degree is becoming harder and harder to obtain in the United States as colleges and universities are having to ask for more and more from their students just to stay afloat. Because education has never been America's utmost priority, a lot of these institutions, and in turn, their applicants, are having to beg, borrow, and steal to be able provide (or be provided) an education. In my opinion, it's deplorable, and some people just don't know how easy they have it.  
The countries immediately start offering insight in unison. It creates a din so unintelligible that absolutely no one is heard. I don't know what comes over me, but I suddenly get out of my chair and yell out, "Maybe if you focus less on providing tax breaks to the wealthy and invest that money into your schools instead, I don't know, this maybe wouldn't be a problem in the first place!"  
The silence is immediate. I blink rapidly as I realized what I've done, and I look over to see Maura silently punching and kicking the air in sheer celebration. When I turn my eyes back towards the other occupants of the room, I see two kinds of faces: those with surprise, and those with disapproval. I think Maura is rubbing off on me.  
I'm not sure how to proceed, but Italy Romano, who is on the second-lowest rise, takes care of this by jumping to his feet. "You're barely allowed in this room. What makes you think you have a right to speak at all?" he says acidly.  
I see Russia take a stand, whirling around as if to defend me. He's not able to do so, though, as Maura is suddenly right beside me. "How about you shut your mouth," she snarls, placing an arm protectively around my shoulders. "Has it not registered in those tiny, closed minds of yours that she has more right than anyone to be able to speak about this subject? She is one of America's citizens, or has this escaped your attention?"  
Romano is livid now, his face reddening rapidly. "How about you shut yours, you stupid human!"  
Oh, no. Ohhhh, no. I place my face in my palm and shake my head, bracing myself for the 99-percent chance of a shit storm that was about to head his way. I highly doubt that the one percent would save him.  
Here's something you should know about Maura: she's a fairly easy-going individual. Just about any insult thrown at her bounces off her thick skin, and she'll toss one back in good humor. There is one exception, however, and Romano sadly has just committed it.  
I slowly turn my head in order to study Maura, whose shoulders are beginning to quake with suppressed rage. Her mouth is set in a mulish line, and I see that her eyes are glistening and her hands are bunched against her thighs. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't advance, she doesn't march. She simply begins walking over to Romano, her footsteps carefully deliberate, until she starts climbing the steps to the second rise. Those who witnessed what she was capable of quickly put a healthy amount of space between themselves and her approaching figure.  
Once she's before a disdainful Romano, she slowly unclenches her hands, and I hold my breath for the eruption.  
"I have been called many things in my life," she begins, quite calmly. "I have been called a bitch. I've been called a f-fr-" Her voice starts shaking, and she pauses for control. Romano is silent. "Freak," she finishes. "You can call me a whore, call me fat or ugly or weird, call me worthless, but I will never," she emphasizes, her voice thickening, "allow someone to call me stupid again."  
The trembling worsens as she pivots and addresses the rest of the room. "I apologize for my interruption. Good day to you all." And then she beats a hasty retreat from the auditorium.  
The lack of sound continues for several seconds as everyone reflects on what has just transpired, then people begin exchanging commentary. There's disbelief that Maura didn't punch Romano in the face as well, outright amazement that Romano would even treat a female in such a manner, and discussions on what my input meant in terms of value and change.  
There are a few people who stand apart, however. Spain and Germany are both silent, staring after the entrance with concern on their faces. Italy appears, surprisingly, ashamed of his brother. Belgium's expression is one of…knowing?, and France is still passed out on the floor.  
I'm in awe and a little sad for my friend, because while I'm proud of her for maintaining her composure and not flying off the handle in this, I now realize that Romano himself was the only reason why she didn't. She wanted to save face in front of him, and couldn't because he's the one she's holding out for. I think, for the first time in my life, I have to resist the urge to assault someone. I look to the asshole in question, and he shocks me most of all. There's loathing in his eyes, and if I'm not mistaken, it's directed at himself.  
Suddenly, everyone hears the sound of a gavel, and all heads swivel in the direction of Germany, who then clears his throat. "I think we can all agree that it is time to call an end to this meeting. We will convene in two months' time in Vienna, as it is Austria's turn to host." He inclines his head in deference to said country. "If there is nothing else, then this meeting is officially adjourned."  
With that said, everyone gets up out of their seats and start heading toward the entrance. The only ones who don't make a move to leave are Germany, Spain, North and South Italy, England, America, Russia, Canada, and obviously France, who I think is just taking a nap now. Russia is the first to approach me and soon everyone else follows. Well, everyone except for Spain and the Italian Brothers, who are arguing amongst themselves.  
"Well, that could have gone better," England comments.  
"Or I could have just kept my mouth shut and none of that would have happened." I sigh.  
"Do not apologize. You could not have known," Russia tells me reassuringly.  
"Yeah! You couldn't have known!" America is agreeing emphatically with Russia. There's a first for everything. "Besides, I think your advice is really great. Unfortunately, it's not my choice to make. I just tell the big man my ideas and he gets to choose whether or not to use them."  
"Then what is the point of having these meetings if you don't have that much of a say over your own country?"  
"Honestly? There is no point. The meetings are mostly just to keep occupied with each other, and for us to get out of our bosses' hair. Don't get me wrong, we do have some say, but mostly, no, we don't have much pull with our own government," Canada informs me.  
This information shocks me. Here, standing in front of me are the countries themselves, but they have almost no pull over their governments. The thought of it is almost sickening. It seems unfair, in my opinion.  
"That is another matter for later," Germany says to me. "For now we should discuss what to do with you and your friend. I was informed that she has been staying with Romano and Spain, but it looks as if now she'll have nowhere to go."  
"I think she should stay with you. It's where she'd feel the safest," I tell Germany.  
"Why should Germany get to keep her?" demands America.  
"Becauase," I explain, "she's German. Born there, family was German, mother tongue, everything."  
"What?!" Germany exclaims, taken aback. "She is mine?" A look of wonder crosses over his face. "But she slips into English so well."  
"From what she told me, her father was bilingual, so she was taught both languages from the get-go. He was an English Literature professor at the Free University of Berlin."  
Germany is still reflecting on this twist of fate when England speaks. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea," he says thoughtfully. "What about Sarah here, though?" He gestures to me.  
"I personally think it would be best if Sarah would stay at Germany's place. She and Maura have been separated since they've been here. Also, it looks as if Maura will need her for the next few days," Canada points out to them.  
Everyone nods their heads in unison, except for Russia. I can't tell how he is feeling with the situation for he is showing no outward sign of emotion. I know we haven't become that close, but I can't help but feel a bit sad at the fact that I might not see him for another two months.  
He notices me looking at him and he gives me a small smile. He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Do not worry about me." How is he is able to read me so well? "We will see each other again, принцесса." I'm still nodding as he walks off, then I quickly turn my attention back to the others.  
Their conversation has shifted to other matters, so I decide that this is my cue to leave. I exit the auditorium through the double doors and I begin looking around for Maura. I have no idea where she could have gone to let off steam. I've only seen her this upset a couple of times before, but each time, she would beat the shit out of the person who goaded her in the first place. Finally, I decide to check one of the more obvious places that people go to calm themselves: the bathroom.  
I enter the women's restroom, and it appears empty. At second glance, I see the biggest stall is occupied. "Maura?" I call out.  
I hear shuffling behind the door before it is unlocked and Maura peeks out at me Her eyes dry, but her expression is sad. "Can I come in?" I ask her hesitantly.  
She nods her head and moves away from the door to let me into the stall. I lock the door and go to sit beside Maura, who takes a seat on the floor and leans against the wall. We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, neither of us having to say anything to each other. I reach over and grasp her hand. Her grip on mine tightens when we hear a few women enter the restroom, but they ignore the locked stall as they quickly finish their business before leaving us alone in the restroom once more. Her grip on my hand slackens.  
Not knowing what to do, I just continue to hold her hand and study the interesting graffiti on the stall wall. I'm reading something about calling "Big Mamma" for a good time when Maura speaks.  
"Ich vermisse meinen Vater," she says softly in German. The impulse is stronger when she's upset.  
I give her a look of understanding. Losing a parent is hard, especially when you're young like us. From what I understand, after Maura's mother had abandoned them, she and her father became inseparable. Maura loved her father more than life itself. I know by the way she would always light up when telling me stories about him. She would go on about what a wonderful man he was, brimming with curiosity and a zest for life, and I'm sure he loved Maura very deeply. Life was perfect for them because all they needed was each other.  
Then the accident happened. On his way home from work one day, her father got hit by a drunk driver head-on. He was rushed to the hospital, but he didn't survive the night. Later, the doctors told Maura that his brain had hemorrhaged when it had hit the steering wheel from the impact. Maura was devastated.  
Being only fifteen at the time, she didn't really have any options on how to proceed. There were only two options: Maura would either have to move to America, to her mother's sister whom she had never met or spoken to, or to be put into foster care. The way she would tell it later, it wasn't really much of a choice.  
I squeeze her hand and try to comfort her. I'm not the greatest in these kinds of situations, but for her, I'll try. I know the best way for her to relax is to converse with her in German. Whenever I do so, apparently I sound a bit funny, since it's not my first language. This always manages to make her laugh.  
"Ich weiß, dass du ihn vermissen, aber es wird in Ordnung sein . Ich bin für Sie da."  
I see her mouth quirk slightly before she rests her head on my shoulder. "Sie müssen Ihre Worte mehr aussprechen."  
I give a light scoff, as if I'm offended, but she knows I'm just playing with her. I shrug my shoulders in nonchalance when I lean over and whisper, "Sie wissen schon ... wenn es Sie sich besser fühlen , können Sie mit mein puste spielen."  
She lifts her head from my shoulder and gives me a baffled look. "What?" I ask, confused. Suddenly, a huge smile emerges from her, and she starts laughing. I have no idea what's so funny, and she's not being helpful. After a few moments, though, she calms down.  
"What was so funny?" I switch back to English, since it seems she's doing better.  
"I'm sorry, but that was hilarious," she tells me, wiping a couple of tears away. At least they weren't unhappy tears.  
"What did I say?"  
"You told me that if I wanted to, I could play with your blow," she explains with a snort.  
I'm taken aback. "My blow? I meant to say breasts!"  
She doubles over and tears start to stream down her face once more. "That's worse! I have my own, thank you very much!"  
I smile to myself. I'm happy that I can make her laugh when she's feeling upset. I wait for her to settle before I ask if she's ready to leave. She takes a deep breath and blows out a breath. She stands and leaves the stall. I follow suit and we exit the bathroom together. Outside, we find Germany and Italy waiting for us.  
"Ciao, bellas! Are you ready to go?" Italy asks excitedly while bouncing on his toes.  
"Where are we going?" I hear Maura ask, her voice somewhat reserved. I look over and see that she's uncomfortable around these two, probably from what happened earlier. Oops. I had forgotten to tell her that we would both be staying at Germany's house for now. I quickly tell her the minor details, and her expression is one similar to when she first discovered me again. She's going home.  
"Yes, the two of you will stay with me for now," Germany informs her, then he actually smiles at her reassuringly. It causes Maura's eyes to widen. "And since I assume that Russia and...Romano have been remiss in outfitting you," he directs his attention to Italy, "Italy here will be bringing you shopping before either of you make it to my house. When you get back, your rooms should be prepared for you."  
Maura turns to Italy, perplexed. "You don't...hate me? For giving Rom- your brother a hard time?" She rubs her arm awkwardly.  
Italy's head swivels to hers in surprise. "Of course not! He deserved it, and probably much worse than what you said to him. Bad, bad Romano!" He takes Maura's hand, and then he clasps mine. "Now, time to shop! I cannot wait to see how cute you look in your outfits. You shall be such pretty bellas!"  
He's dragging us across the lobby now, and I think I hear Maura mutter, "Good, 'cause I want to burn these clothes."  
I want to laugh, but I'm really not a fan of shopping.


	13. Maura's AWESOME Day

_**Maura's POV** _

  
I feel like shit. I groan and roll over and note that the time on the clock reads 4:49AM. Great. Might as well get up and greet the day.  
The room is pitch-black save for the green glow cast by the numbers of the digital alarm clock. Still, I scrub my hands over my face, trying to erase any traces of fatigue. It's been a sleepless night. After turning on the bedside lamp and being momentarily blinded, I look over to the bed and see the evidence of tossing and turning; my attempts to go to sleep and to get out of my mind the night before.  
Sighing, I force myself to my feet and into the adjoining bathroom, hoping that a few minutes in a hot shower might clear my head. Taking a quick peek into the mirror tells me that it would at least benefit my appearance.  
I undress and enter the shower stall, jerking slightly at the cold spray that puts pinpricks of discomfort through my skin. Well, I'm awake now. Hugging myself until the water warms, I close my eyes and lean against the tile, grimacing as I involuntarily recollect what had transpired yesterday. Myriad emotions come over me. Pride over Sarah, shame over my disruption of what was probably a very important meeting, hurt over the caustic words that Romano hurled at me. I don't regret standing up for my best friend, but I do regret how it turned out. I look down at the drain positioned between my feet and imagine those last vestiges of self-worth spiraling, mixing with the excess water.  
I quickly wash myself and exit the shower, eager to escape the plaguing doubts. I hurry into the bedroom and pull out some clothes from the dresser that had been packed with our spoils from yesterday's shopping expedition. I probably would have enjoyed it more had we waited a few days, but I will admit to having fun browbeating Sarah into choosing a few feminine articles. Purchasing underwear with Italy had been outright strange. A memory of my father's scalding cheeks came to mind, the memory of the first time I had informed him that I needed to buy bras. Still, he had taken me, though we were both uncomfortable about it. His discomfort was the complete antithesis to Italy, who had seemed unusually knowledgeable about women's undergarments.  
I hesitate to ponder why.  
Once I don my bra and panties, I select a white, knee-length skirt from the closet, along with a short-sleeved blouse in a bright red with white polka dots. It's probably a little dressy for staying in, but I'm desperate to feel feminine again.  
After I'm dressed, I debate whether to bother making the bed, but it's a short battle. It's the polite thing to do, and I don't want to upset Germany even more than I had at the meeting. I have nowhere else to go now, after all. I know he's a tidy person, and probably doesn't appreciate messes of any sort. So why is he so close with Italy, again?  
I shrug as I fold the sheets back, deciding that it doesn't matter after all of the kindness they've both shown. When I glance over at the clock again, I see that only thirty minutes have passed. Not really a reasonable time for anyone to be awake. Reminding myself that I'm not exactly the most reasonable of people, I head back into the bathroom to finish getting ready.  
My hair's still damp, so I don't bother brushing it, since doing so would cause my hair to dry into a wild, frizzy mass of tangles. I don't have a straightener, but that would take hours to manage, so the absence is irrelevant. Still, I'm tempted to name my first-born child after Italy as I glance at the row of cosmetics on the counter.  
I don't do much. I dab some concealer on the dark circles under my eyes, apply some mascara to brighten them, and put a touch a blush to my cheeks to add some color to my face. Once I'm finished, I review my handiwork and give a satisfied nod. With my war paint on, I'm more than ready for battle.  
Not that there's anyone to battle with currently. When I exit my bedroom, I see that the hallway is still dark. Sarah's door is shut, but this doesn't surprise me, as I usually wake up earlier than she does. Still, it'd be nice to have a familiar person to converse with after such a restless night.  
I can't believe I've been reduced to moping. Sure, there have been times in my life where being depressed is expected. I've had some pretty rough experiences. However, it's always been my policy to move past the hardship and focus on the humor, the little things. I know my father would have wanted it that way. Being such, it's fucking degrading to be reduced to whining into my proverbial diary because some brainless boy doesn't reciprocate the same interest. So what?  
I'm armed, I'm intelligent, and I'm at least somewhat attractive. I mean, babies don't cry and housewives don't recoil in horror at the sight of me, right? Right. I'm in a strange, new world that I would have never thought possible, making friends all the time, collecting interesting facets of knowledge as I go. I have my best friend with me, and I see her happiness growing by the second. What the fuck do I have to mope about? Why the fuck should this rejection matter? You know what? It fucking doesn't. This is my day, bitches.  
Bolstered by this pep talk, I nod furiously to myself as I fumble my way around until I see a light emanating from what I believe is the kitchen. I suppose someone left the light on, but that's okay. I could go for a cup of coffee.  
When I pivot my feet to make my spectacular entrance for no one to see, I almost trip over myself as I spy Germany leaning against a granite counter top in profile, a mug poised to his mouth. I feel myself deflate completely, confidence gone.  
I don't think he notices me, and I'm now at a loss for how I'm supposed to proceed. Should I announce my presence, or can I just casually walk to the coffee and pretend like it's no big deal that I'm in the same kitchen with my homeland personified?I must look really stupid right about now.  
Suddenly, he clears his throat, and his head turns to regard me. "Guten morgen," he says stiffly. Germany sets the now-empty mug beside the pot of coffee, which is giving off a rather tantalizing aroma. My eyes dart between him and the pot; I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to do. Finally, I mumble a similar greeting and take a seat at the small dinette located off of one of the counters. It only seats two, and I speculate that it's probably used for singular people who don't want the pomp of the dining room.  
Now, it only intensifies the feeling of unease, being in this isolated spot. I look down at my hands and notice I've been wringing them. Great. His opinion of me must be through the roof right now. Briefly closing my eyes, I expel a few seconds of breath and force myself to settle before trying to socialize.  
The clatter of dishes causes me to jump. Startled, I glance up and see Germany taking a seat across from me, a new mug of coffee before him with two small bowls filled with what I suspect are sugar and cream. My look turns questioning, and he clears his throat again. Does he have allergies, or something?  
"I did not know what you prefer," he states, gesturing to the table. "But it seemed like you wanted some."  
"Danke." I reach for the mug hesitantly, slightly cowed under his unreadable expression. When he doesn't speak further, I put two spoons of sugar into my coffee and swirl it around slightly. "So, ah. Lovely home you have here."  
His eyebrows furrow slightly. "Danke," he replies slowly.  
Shit, this is getting us nowhere.  
The sip of coffee I take is deafening in the ensuing silence. I try not to add to it by cursing over my burnt tongue. Occasionally our eyes meet, but then we quickly look away from one another as we try to get a grasp on the situation. I know where my reluctance comes from, but why does he seem so hesitant?  
"So, uh. Are you always up by this time?" There. That's safe enough, right?  
"Ja."  
"Cool, cool..." I fold my arms across my chest, trying to quell the rising frustration. "I am an early riser, myself. A habit I picked up from my fa-" I gulp. "-ther..."  
His eyes, a brilliant blue, soften a degree, and Germany leans forward slightly. "Is he a good man, your father?" If I'm not mistaken, it seems that my answer is important.  
Flustered, I stammer, "Y-yeah. He was."  
"Was? He is no longer with you?"  
Well, obviously. I shake my head in response. "No, he passed about six years ago. I still miss him every day." That last part wasn't necessary, Maura, my brain informs me irritably. Shut it, I tell it in much the same tone. "Honestly, it's like missing a piece of myself." Seriously, where is all of this coming from? It was not my intention to start bitching to him, especially after the shit I pulled with him yesterday.  
Surprisingly, his look is one of understanding. "I know what that is like," he says softly, and it dawns on me that he most likely does. From watching the show, there's a whole conspiracy theory that Germany is actually the Holy Roman Empire, which is why he's so close with Italy. However, even if he is, he doesn't remember. Being a part of something once and being unable to remember it seems like an awful weight to carry, even if one doesn't know that they're carrying it to begin with.  
"Then I am sorry for you," I tell him, and I mean it.  
His hands are occupied with the spoon twirling between his fingers, and I don't think he even realizes he's doing it. Is he nervous?  
"What about your mother?" I hear him ask suddenly. I feel a leaden weight settle in the pit of my stomach.  
"I'd rather not talk about her." Anything but her.  
"Why not?" Germany is uncharacteristic in his intrusion.  
I'm frowning now, and I'm back to wringing my hands. He has to know how uncomfortable I am with the topic, but his eyes are insistent. I don't understand why he feels it's so important to know, but I guess I owe him one. Still, I know after I tell him everything, his opinion of me is going to sink even lower, if that's even possible.  
"Fine," I say after a moment. I push the cooling mug of coffee towards him, not wanting to sate the bitter taste that's entered my mouth. It's comforting, in a way. I take a deep breath.  
"I don't take after my dad very much. He looks like you, in a way. Blonde, light eyes. Tall. A fine, Arian specimen, if you will. Obviously, I don't take after him, much." I gesture the length of myself. "No, I'm basically the spitting image of my mother. I think the only physical characteristic I inherited from my dad are his ears."  
Germany raises an eyebrow, but he maintains the same intent expression. It's encouragement enough. "Dad was doing grad school at Rutgers in America, having received a really good scholarship to attend. He wanted to go into English, I guess in deference to my grandmother who had passed several years before. They, like he and I, were very close." Breathe. "Anyway. Between classes, or when time would permit, he would go down to a local diner, a hole-in-the-wall. It wasn't popular enough to be a local haunt, from what he told me, but then again, there was more than one reason why he frequented the place. One of those reasons was my mother."  
"Go on," he entreats quietly.  
I set my shoulders. "From all accounts, she was beautiful. He used to tell me all the time how much I favored her, like it was such a wonderful thing. Apparently she was also very bright, but not bright enough to afford tuition to Rutgers, so she was scraping money to go to a local community college instead. Her home life hadn't left her with a good foundation."  
"It seems you have inherited your parents' intelligence," Germany puts in, surprising me. A compliment? I feel myself flush in response.  
"You say that, but I wouldn't call her subsequent choices "intelligent," I inform him, my tone disapproving. "As you must already know, they hit it off, and eventually they married. Then my mom found out she was pregnant. My dad was thrilled, starting a new chapter in their lives, seeing the physical byproduct of their love, et cetera, et cetera. My mother, on the other hand, was ambivalent."  
"She did not want you?"  
"I can't say for sure, at least at first. My father never went too much into detail about the actual pregnancy. He did say that when I was born and for the first few months after, she took her role as a mother very seriously. Not that it matters, mind you, since I can't remember. But then she started to become dissatisfied," I say flatly. "By this time, she had moved back to Germany with him so that he could finish his doctorate at the Free University of Berlin. Between his classes, his dissertation, student teaching, and job applications, he wasn't home enough to help her as often as he, or she, would have liked. So she started taking me with her places, to, ah. Socialize."  
His eyebrow quirks again. I'm not sure if he can tell where this is going. "And by socializing, I mean parties on the nights where he had to stay late on campus. Either she'd bring me with her or dump me on a neighbor. I guess after having a taste of the party scene, she decided that a life with my dad and I wouldn't suit anymore. So she took to drugs."  
"Mein Gott," he grounds out, as if furious. On my behalf?  
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously and plow on. "My dad eventually got the gist of what was happening when I began getting sick a lot and wasn't gaining the proper weight. He confronted my mother about it, and she announced that she was tired of having to answer to us about what she did. Tired of playing homemaker when she could be out enjoying life. Because having a family is the worst thing that could happen. So my dad demanded that either she clean up her act and start behaving, if not as a partner in their marriage, then at least as a mother to me, or she leave. So she left."  
I finish my speech there, and for the next few minutes, we sit in silence. Me, mulling over what Germany's reaction will be, and I assume he's quiet because he's trying to process what I've just told him. Suddenly, his brow furrows, and he looks up from his hands. "Do you know where she is now?"  
I close my eyes briefly as I try to repress the surge of emotion. "Yeah. She's buried in Zion Hill Cemetery about 30 miles from where I live."  
"Oh," he breathes, regret forming on his face. "Would it trouble you to tell me how she passed?"  
Might as well. "A couple of years after she left us, my father received a phone call from her sister, who lives in Louisiana. She told him that my mother had died of a drug overdose. Then went into detail about how it was his fault because she was so messed up over losing him, because that's the wonderful kind of person that my aunt is," I bite off sarcastically, bitterness washing over me. "The only reason why she had my father's number in the first place was because he wanted to make sure my mom had it in case she ever wanted to come back into my life. Obviously, she didn't."  
"So your mother committed suicide?"  
I shrug my shoulders, trying to practice nonchalance. "I'll never know if that's actually what happened, or if it was my aunt trying to find more ways to hurt us. Either way, it doesn't matter, as my mother is gone."  
He nods once, as if signaling that he's satisfied with the synopsis I had given him. I feel myself beginning to tremble slightly after revisiting the portion of my life that I try every day to forget. Between this and the uneasy situation with Romano, it's taking every ounce of my will not to break down. In front of Germany. Because that would be the worst kind of embarrassing.  
Another steaming mug of coffee appears on the table before me, and I meet Germany's gaze. They bore into mine as if daring me to argue when he says, "Drink. It will do you some good." I tell myself that it couldn't make things any worse, so I take a cautious sip. The sharp tinge of whiskey is unexpected, and I feel my lips curve into a small smile. Heartened, I take another, longer drink until my insides are warm again.  
He sits down across from me again and folds his hands together. "Thank you for sharing your story. I realize it must have been difficult for you to recount, but maybe you will feel better for it."  
I'm leaning back in my chair, willing myself to relax when his words catch me off guard. Immediately, shame begins to fill me as I recall how I had spoken to him the day before. Granted, I was more worried about getting to Sarah than considering his feelings, but Germany has shown me nothing but kindness in the time since.  
"I'm sorry," I begin, swirling my finger in the coffee. My smile turns sheepish.  
He cocks his head slightly, his eyes inspecting me like a bug pinned to a display. I realize now that it isn't the most flattering of comparisons. "And what are you sorry for?"  
I give a self-depreciating "heh" before responding. "For being a bitch yesterday. You've been nothing but understanding and hospitable, even after my treatment of you. Being...you know, who you are, I should have treated you with more respect."  
For the first time since we began our exchange, Germany looks visibly uncomfortable. He fidgets in his chair and starts rubbing his neck, and if I'm not mistaken, there's a tint of pink to his cheeks now. What the Hell?Did apologies make him that uncomfortable? But then his hand reaches out, faltering slightly, and he places a hand over mine. I try to blink back my surprise.  
"You are mein," he says simply.  
"HUH?" I blurt out, snatching my hand away. "Listen, I don't know what impression I gave just now, but I'm not interested in th-"  
"NEIN!" he shouts, gesturing with his hands frantically. Then he places his forehead in his palm. "Nein, that is not what I meant." His voice is slightly muffled, but the tone of resignation is clear as day. "I mean that you are mein, a daughter of Deutschland." He lifts his head, and the look he gives me is one of sincerity. "You possess qualities that I pride in my people: intelligence, strength, loyalty, an iron will, and believe it or not, compassion." He takes my hand again. "It gives me great pleasure to claim you as one of my own, and I take my role very seriously."  
Seriously, what just happened? I stand up, his hand still linked in mine, and begin scratching my temple in an attempt to respond to this rather startling revelation. "I'm not sure what to say."  
Germany stands as well and releases my hand, opening his arms. "How about you come and give your new vader a great big hu-"  
"No."  
His eyes blink rapidly, and his arms fall to his sides. "I do not understand."  
"I will never call another vader," I declare seriously, but I temper it with a grin. "But I will take that hug from a good friend."  
His face splits into a beam, which I'm sure I'm the only one to ever witness...ever. But he doesn't hesitate to spread his arms once more, and I immediately step between them. As they close over me, I think for the first time in six years, I feel like I'm home again.

"GUTEN MORGEN!"  
The subsequent shriek I hear is slightly gratifying, and I flip on the light to see a rumpled Sarah upright, a navy blue cover clutched to her chest. I start snickering as I see the state of her hair.  
Sarah, on the other hand, is clearly not amused. "MAURA! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!" she hollers before she hurriedly tries to smooth her snarled tresses. "You know how much I hate that."  
I shrug before I situate myself on her bed, which looks to be in a similar condition as mine had been. "Rough night?" I ask dryly.  
"Yeah, I was occupied with dreams about-Maura? It's only seven in the morning." She turns her face from the clock on the nightstand to glare at me. "Seriously? What could be so important that you felt it necessary to wake me up at seven in the goddamn morning? On the weekend, no less!" My friend makes a sound of disgust before flopping her body against the mattress. I begin laughing again as I'm treated to the sight of a disgruntled Sarah. I'm one of the privileged few who've been on the receiving end of her snark, and it's truly a testament to our friendship that's she's comfortable enough with me to express any emotion she might feel towards me.  
"I just finished...er...chatting with Germany," I offer in explanation.  
She opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it abruptly. "So, you two have made up?" I see a light enter her eye that I don't quite care for. "Say, since you and he are living under the same roof, and you're both "young" and unattached and German, mayb-"  
"UGH, no. Stop right there," I order her adamantly, my palm facing her as if to ward those unwanted thoughts away. "We bonded, and he basically said he wants to adopt me as his daughter."  
"Whaaaaat?" I'm still kind of having the same reaction, honestly.  
"Yeah. And it's really great. Just, you know, baby steps. But it was really nice to have someone want to protect me. Really nice."  
I already recognize the expression forming, and I can't deal with any more pity today. "Anyway, go back to sleep, if you want. But I say you get up so we can explore. And eat breakfast. I'm fucking famished." I push myself to my feet and look at her expectantly.  
Sarah's lips twist for a moment, as if considering the notion of ignoring me in favor of bed, but finally she sighs and says grudgingly, "Fine. But I don't have to like it." She then lurches out of bed and begins her trek to the adjoining bathroom.  
"Nice kitty pajamas!" I call out, and am rewarded with a middle finger. Heh.  
As I exit her room and head back for the kitchen, I muse that I had probably had enough excitement for one day, and may spend the rest of it with a book, or something. Maybe Germany is still in there, and I convince him to whip me up some streusel, since he plans on acting as a doting papa. Geez. I don't think I'll ever become used to that revelation.  
So caught up in my thoughts am I that I don't notice my entrance into the kitchen until I collide with a warm body. I brace myself without thinking, about to apologize to Germany for running into him when I look down.  
I see bare feet. I see very pale bare feet. And bare legs that are turning in my direction. Also very pale. My eyes trail up to see a pair of white boxer-briefs with tiny pink hearts printed across them, and a-skip over that skip over that skip over that- a pale, but well-defined torso, a slender pale neck, until I meet a pair of startlingly pale pink eyes.  
"Hallo!" I hear an accented voice ring out.  
Oh, fuuuuuuck.  
I jolt back as if burned, and I begin hopping from foot to foot. "Not what it looks like, not what it looks like, not what it looks like," I chant, clasping my hands in silent supplication.  
"Like what?" Prussia asks, innuendo heavy in his voice. He begins advancing towards me, his walk suggestive. "Looks to me like a beautiful woman is in my kitchen, and I am already half-way undress-"  
"LIKE THAT!" I screech, slamming my back against the door jamb. "BACK, YOU DEMON."  
This startles him, and he pauses in confusion. "But I am no demon! I am AWESOME!"  
"BRUDER!" I hear Germany shout from the hallway. A few seconds later, he enters the kitchen, his expression near-murderous. "Dieses Mädchen, das Sie schmutzig mit zu bekommen sind ist Ihre NICHTE," he informs Prussia acidly.  
"WAAAAAASS?" he exclaims, his eyes turning to mine in dawning horror. "Sie sind deutsche?"  
"Ja." I fold my arms over my chest. Prussia eyes follow the movement, but then he shakes his head vigorously as if to purify his thoughts. A moment of clarity erupts on his face, and his mouth breaks out into a pleased smile. "Ich habe eine Nichte? THIS IS SO AWESOME! Come give your Uncle Prussia a-"  
"-great big hug. Yeah, yeah." I make a move toward him before a thought hits me. "You're not going to be one of those super creepy uncles, are you?"  
He appears to consider this before shrugging. "It would depend on what you would deem 'creepy,'" he says frankly. Hey, I'll take it. I move to give him a brief embrace, and I think the hand lingering and stroking on my back is awkward for the both of us. And when I say "the both of us," I mean Germany and myself.  
"Okay, Snowflake, time to let go now." My words are slurred as my face is squished against his shoulder. He finally releases me, and I waste no time putting a little distance between us. He proceeds gives a little happy dance. "Now I must go put on something more decent, since someone not awesome failed to inform me of our guest..."  
He trails off as his gaze moves past me, and I swivel my head around to see Sarah standing in the doorway. "ssss...why hallo th-"  
"Nein," Germany and I say in unison.  
Sarah's face is almost as white as Prussia's, and her gaze darts to mine in panic. "Maura?" she says timidly, "why is their a half-naked albi...albino...in...oh, God." Her cheeks diffuse with color, and her mouth opens and closes rapidly.  
"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," she stammers, her hands flicking from her wrists in excitement. Not that it wasn't evident already, as she's bouncing on her heels. "P-p-p-pruss...Pruss-Pruss..shaaaaa." If I'm not mistaken, she's practically bleating at this point. And losing a lot of air. I hurry over to her and clasp her arms. The only response I get is a high-pitched EEEEEEEE.  
"Apparently you have a fan," Germany observes dryly.  
"Damn right, I do," Prussia agrees, placing a hand on his cocked hip. It's probably not helping Sarah to see him in this state of undress.  
"Prussia, either you get a paper bag, or you go put on some clothes, 'cause you're not helping the situation," I tell him, fanning Sarah in an attempt to cool her down.  
He scoffs in our direction. "Why would I put a paper bag over this beautiful awesomeness?" he asks, gesturing to his face.  
"A PAPER BAG FOR HER, MORON," I shout.  
He sniffs, as if affronted, and adopts a haughty expression. "That is no way to talk to your uncle," Prussia informs me tartly before strutting away to what I presume is the basement.  
I look over to Germany, who's pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, then back to Sarah, who's still borderline hysterical. So much for having a quiet day.  
"Maura," I hear Sarah wheeze, "I-I- jus-"  
"Yeah."  
"And h-he's-"  
"Mhm."  
"-in his underwear, Maura! In his underwear." She extracts herself from my grip and takes a giant breath. As she slowly releases it, I pat her on the back consolingly. Though why she would need comforting in the first place, I'm not quite certain.  
Germany seems to have recovered from this latest episode, for he turns his back to us in favor of the pantry, muttering "streusel and coffee" all the way. I grin to myself, thinking that he must have read my mind.  
"You okay there?" I ask Sarah, who appears to have calmed down some. Her color is still high, but her breathing is normal, at least. She gives me a sheepish smile and nods before chuckling. "I probably made a mess of that, huh?"  
"If by 'making a mess,' you mean 'inflating Prussia's already gargantuan ego,' then yes. Yes, you did. I don't understand what it is about your preoccupation with Ussias."  
"Wha-?" Her face screws up in confusion.  
"You know, Russia. Prussia. Really poetic, but only because their names rhyme. Who knew you had a thing for blondes?" I give an exaggerated shrug.  
Her mouth drops open in insult before she punches me on the arm. "Shut up," she mutters, and I laugh in response, but it's abruptly cut off by the sound of the door bell. Who in the world?  
"I will get that!" Germany volunteers loudly from the pantry. The pantry door opens and he emerges with an armload of ingredients, which he hastily dumps on the counter. "I will be back momentarily."  
Sarah and I stand in companionable silence for the next few moments when we suddenly hear from another room, "What are you doing here?"  
We look at each other and the simultaneously stick our heads into the hallway. We can't see who the visitor is, but we're able to hear more clearly.  
Still, the voice is unintelligible when Germany replies (rather scathingly), "I do believe it is my business, as this is my house. Either you tell me, or you can leave."  
The voice sounds again, still indistinct, but we have no trouble hearing Germany's next retort. "You are here to see her? In that case, we shall choose option number two. Go." My eyebrows go up in surprise at the news that one of us has a visitor. One with whom Germany doesn't hold in high esteem. Sarah seems to come to the same conclusion, for we tip-toe into the hallway to try a get a vantage point.  
This proves unnecessary, however, when we hear a voice shout, "SHUT IT, YOU GODDAMN POTATO-EATER. LET ME TALK TO HER."  
Sarah's head slowly swivels in my direction as I feel the color drain slowly from my face. Now? I think to myself, a sense of dread filling me. After all the "excitement" I've experienced in the past few days, I'm not sure I'll be able to take much more of his biting derision. However, my father never raised a coward, and Germany supposedly takes pride in the steel of my spine, so I expel a breath and walk towards the entrance way.  
"Maura, are you sure?" Sarah whispers behind me.  
"Nope." But that's never stopped me before.  
I advance towards the front door until a portion of Germany is in my line of view, and with a few more steps, a wind-swept Romano appears before me. Really, is the wind-blown look really necessary? His dark hair is tousled artfully around his face, and his heightened color only accentuates the gold of his eyes, which have widened with surprise at my entrance. Even in casual dress, he looks damn good, the bastard.  
Germany, also startled, regards me carefully. "Er ist ziemlich stur, aber wenn Sie wollen, werde ich ihn Eingang verwehren," he offers gently, and a reluctant smile is forced out of me at his concern. I lay a hand on his arm in a gesture of gratitude, which causes Romano's eyes to narrow.  
"Ich glaube, ich werde in der Lage sein zu verwalte. Danke," I return affectionately. Germany nods curtly to Romano and leaves us alone.  
I cross my arms and look at the Italian expectantly, my eyebrow arched as if to say, Well? His feet shift jerkily, and he appears rather uncomfortable. Good, that makes two of us. I'm determined not to be the one to breach the silence first. There's nothing I hate more than appearing weak. Well, nothing except maybe child hunger and genocide and people who kick puppies for fun. At least I can say I'm not entirely self-absorbed.  
"Maura," he begins stiffly, and I stare at him until he starts fidgeting.  
"I believe that is the first time you addressed me by my name," I say after a time. A confused expression comes over his features, and he scratches his forehead.  
"No, I guess I have not." He sighs. "I suppose I never really thought about it."  
"Ouch." My voice is laced with sarcasm.  
His eyes start to spark with anger, but he seems to catch himself, and suddenly, he graces me with a rueful smile. That's two firsts in one day, and counting. "We cannot be around one another without inciting the other, huh?" I feel a corner of my mouth quirk in response.  
"Probably not. Why are you here, Romano?"  
His face tells me that he's taken aback by my directness, though I'm at a loss as to why, since he spent three days straight in my company. It should come as no surprise to him, or maybe he was really hoping that we would circle around the topic for a couple of hours. Either way, he's paying for his assumption, if the sudden panic in his gaze is any indication.  
"Uh, well. After what happened yesterday, Spain and my brother started in on me on how disgraceful my behavior was."  
"I bet you just loved hearing that," I tell him ironically.  
"No, I did not, in fact." Apparently my sarcasm was lost on him this time. "But after a time, I began to see why how I treated you may have been wrhrng."  
I lean forward slightly, cocking my ear in his direction. "Come again?" I request.  
Romano compresses his lips together and grunts. "What I said was that I may have been wr-hnng."  
Realizing what was happening now, I begin to smile, though it's an effort to keep it from being smug. " I don't believe I recognize the adjective "wr-hnng." What does it mean?"  
"Damnit, you know what I mean," he mutters, a pout forming on his face.  
"Can't say that I do." And damn if I'm going to make it easy for him.  
He sputters somewhat as he becomes agitated. "It means that I'm sorhrrr."  
I snort. "Spit it out, already."  
Finally, he loses it. "FUCK, I APOLOGIZE. THIS. IS. APOLOGY. I'M SORRY I WAS A DICK. I WAS WRONG," he grounds out furiously. My smile widens and I feel lighter than I've felt in years. Romano is glaring at me now, as if it was my fault that he felt uncomfortable. Okay, maybe it is, but I wouldn't openly admit to it.  
"You done?" I ask in a dead-pan tone, trying to school my face back into an expression of apathy.  
He makes a tch sound, crosses his arms, and averts his eyes. "I suppose," he says sullenly. "I guess it was sort-of fun having you over, and Spain blames me for your absence." He meets my gaze. "Truce?"  
I appear to think on it, as if it was a difficult decision, and then I give a shrug. "Eh, why not? As long as you apologize to Sarah, as well."  
He huffs, but doesn't argue, and I guess we'll consider that a win for the day. "Fine," he agrees. "But not today, unless you wish to pass the message along for me. I have more errands to run, so I will be leaving now." He turns around and begins walking out the front door. "Give my brother my worst, will you?" he calls out behind him. I laugh.

All in all, it could have been a much worse day, I muse to myself later as I'm sitting on the floor with Sarah. She had already accepted Romano's apology, and the other members of the household seemed to have taken what had happened in stride. Italy wailed when I related what Romano had said, Germany lamented about how we were probably going to see more of Romano now, and Prussia? Well, Prussia is Prussia, so he said, "Let him come," rather darkly, and so I'm waiting to see what happens with that one.  
Inglorious Basterds is on while Sarah plays with my hair, and every now and then I take a kernel of popcorn from the bucket that my newfound "uncle" is eating out of absently (he's rather absorbed in the movie). I hear a slight snore from Italy, whose sprawled out across a plush armchair. Germany's currently occupied with calling in some dinner for our party of five. I'm about to get up and inquire about the progress on that when we hear a knock at the front door. What now?


	14. The Russian Invasion

_**Sarah's POV** _

  
"Are we supposed to be entertaining someone?" inquires Maura.  
"Not that I am aware of," Germany replies as he enters the living room.  
"Well, what are you waiting for, West? Open the door and see who it is!" a lounging Prussia exclaims from the couch. Germany scowls, but Prussia ignores him and continues to loudly eat his popcorn. And he is supposed to be the older sibling?  
Germany grabs the remote and turns down the TV volume before walking over to answer the door. By now, the knocking has increased a bit in frequency, as if the person behind the door is impatient. From our position on the floor, Maura and I aren't able to see whoever is outside, but we can still see Germany's back.  
If anyone finds it odd that someone is visiting so late in the evening, their faces certainly don't register the fact. Italy, who had woken with a start at the knocking, is staring off into space, lost in his own little world. Maura is consumed with braiding a piece of my hair, and Prussia is concentrating on the television while stuffing his face with popcorn. I guess it's just me, then. I'm mentally shrugging my shoulders, deciding that it's probably unimportant, when suddenly I hear Germany exclaim loudly, "Russia?!"  
My head pivots so quickly, I hear a faint pop as my neck cracks. As I push myself to my feet, I hear Maura doing the same behind me. When I turn to face her, she inclines her head and gestures with her eyes towards the door, as if to say, Do you know anything about this? I shake my head emphatically. As if I would actually be bold enough to encourage a guy to come calling. She nods her head slowly, a knowing grin on her face. I think her intended implication was: get you some. Before I can respond, though, our silent exchange is interrupted.  
"Hello!" sounds an accented voice cheerfully. I don't have to see to know that it is, in fact, Russia who's standing in front of Germany. My only question is...why is he here?  
"Yes, hello," Germany returns politely, the door handle still within his grasp. Neither says more, as Germany is tapping his foot, seemingly waiting for Russia to announce the reason for his visit, and Russia isn't very forthcoming. Finally, Germany huffs a breath and asks a tad impatiently, "Can I help you?"  
"Да, you can! I will be staying here for the foreseeable future, so I suggest you prepare a room for me," Russia says imperiously, pushing Germany a bit firmly out of his path so he can cross the threshold. His eyes immediately find mine. "Принцесса! Привет!" he greets me in Russian. A beam is plastered across his face.  
I glance over to Prussia and Italy, who are looking on with expressions of contempt and wide-eyed curiosity, respectively. Seeing no help there, I jerk my head back in Russia's direction. "Здравствуйте Россия," I say, my voice tentative. Good manners dictate that I respond in his own language. The smile on his face widens.  
Russia shoves his suitcase without a backward glance at Germany, who sputters indignantly when it connects with his chest. With a disgruntled look on his face, our host kicks the door shut behind him and jiggles the suitcase between his hand. I assume he's probably debating between throwing the luggage out onto the street, being polite and taking it to a vacant room, or staying to watch everything unfold. The latter proves to be true as he sets the suitcase down and leans against the front entryway of the living room. Russia doesn't appear to notice, as he strides forward and takes my hand in his with uncharacteristic familiarity.  
"That was good, but you need to work on your enunciation more," he informs me before giving my hand a slight squeeze. He quickly releases it.  
"I tell her that all the time!" Maura interjects from behind me. "For some reason, it never seems to stick." I turn around and see her shaking her head exaggeratedly, her arms folded and her tongue clucking, as if in disappointment.  
"Hey! You're the one teaching me German, so maybe I can't enunciate because of your horrible teaching skills," I shoot back at her jokingly.  
"I'm an awesome teacher!" she exclaims in mock indignation.  
Prussia laughs and pats the top of Maura's head. "I am sure you are, but you will never be as awesome as me or West when it comes to the language, Nichte."  
"Bruder, stop picking on Maura," instructs Germany. Prussia sneers at his younger brother before settling back onto the couch. Germany directs his attention to Russia. "Now. Why are you here?" he asks bluntly.  
"There is a very good reason," replies Russia with a chuckle. He puts a protective arm around my shoulders. "I do not trust the albino with my friend."  
"Excuse me!" Prussia practically jumps from the couch in outrage. "Why do you not trust me around her? If there is anyone to mistrust, it is you!" he accuses as he prods an accusatory finger into Russia's chest.  
The smile on Russia's face never falters, but it's no longer genuine. "You are overbearing. You drink too much. You cannot be trusted to think clearly. Also, you are as perverse as France, but with a history of violence. I do not want someone like you around her. Therefore, I am taking it upon myself to stay here for the next couple of months to keep an eye on you."  
The ever-present tension in the room increases, and I can feel myself beginning to sweat. Although the gesture is nice, I'm fully capable of taking care of myself, and I know Maura wouldn't let anything happen to me, anyway. While Russia and Prussia are staring each other down, Italy goes to hide behind Germany, who is combing fingers through his hair in apparent frustration. Maura, on the other hand, is regarding Russia's arm on my shoulder with narrowed eyes. I get the feeling she doesn't entirely trust him.  
Germany takes a calming breath. "I understand your concern, but I assure you that she is safe here. Your presence is not required."  
"Нет, it is not negotiable," he announces flatly. He removes his arm from my shoulders and goes to retrieve his suitcase. "Now, if you would not mind, show me to my room. I am tired and would like to rest."  
Seeing no easier options, Germany agrees with a tired sigh and starts toward the hallway, indicating for Russia to follow. Russia glances at me and briefly touches my hair. "Good night, Принцесса. I will see you in the morning." With that said, he follows Germany into the hall, presumably heading for the guest bedrooms on the second floor.  
I watch him exit the living room. Once he is out of sight, I let loose a breath I wasn't aware I was holding. Even though the tension in the room is still fairly palpable, it has eased considerably. Prussia still looks pissed off, and without saying another word, he stalks in the direction of the basement, muttering something about losing his appetite. Now it is just Maura, Italy, and I alone in the living room.  
"Ve~ that was scary," Italy murmurs quietly after a time.  
I silently agree with him. It's a well-known fact that Russia and Prussia detest one another. Even before the controversy of the Berlin Wall, relations between them have have been somewhat strained, and here I am, caught in the fucking middle. I sigh wearily to myself and start rubbing my temples to ease the headache beginning to form.  
Maura claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. "Well Sarah, you certainly got your hands full," she proclaims to me.  
My look is one of confusion. Seeing my expression, she clarifies, "I was talking about Russia. You know, if you want this relationship to work, you shouldn't put up with that overbearing bullshit. It's nice that he wants to be protective, but you can't let it get out of hand."  
A feel my heart skip a beat. "Re-relationship?!" I stutter out. I feel my face beginning to heat. "We're not even dating!"  
She cracks a grin at my reaction. "I'm aware. But it's so cute when you get so flustered." She pinches my cheek and chuckles.  
"Sarah and Russia are together?" asks Italy, incredulity heavy in his voice. Maura focuses her attention on him.  
"No, they aren't. I'm just messing with her," she explains before pulling me into a one-armed embrace.  
Moments later, Germany comes back downstairs and confirms that Russia will indeed be his house guest for the time being. His face clearly states that he isn't pleased with the notion. Personally, I have no problem with this. I don't think he'll cause any harm. Well, except to Prussia. Maybe. Yes.  
With both Russia and Prussia in their respective bedrooms, everyone situates themselves once more in the living room. We try to distract ourselves by finishing Inglorious Basterds, but it seems that none are unaffected by what happened earlier.  
It's still another twenty minutes before our food arrives, but when we settle down to eat, Germany and I aren't hungry anymore. Italy and Maura don't seem to have any trouble, however. We force ourselves to consume the food, anyway, and we make the motions to prepare for bed, all with the hope that tomorrow will be better.

* * *

 

_"You're so beautiful," he murmurs hotly into my ear as his hands stroke my face. He proceeds to plant soft, open-mouthed kisses along my neck, but never once do his lips touch mine. I lick my lips in anticipation, wanting him to kiss me, but he doesn't. His hands move from my face down to my waist. His fingers leave trails of heat in their wake; it feels as if my body is igniting. I know I won't mind if I'm burned. My heart is beating so fast, I'm afraid it's going to burst._   
_I link my arms around his neck when his hands travel over my thighs. As he squeezes, I arch into him, and when he licks up my neck, I shudder, causing even more friction. I then pull away, blood rushing to my face as I see the evident lust in his gaze. Knowing that it's for me sends delicious trembles over my body. His smile lets me know that he's enjoying making me squirm, but honestly, I just want him to kiss me already. I've never felt this way before, and the intensity robs me of breath._   
_"Please," I manage, struggling for air._   
_He lowers his face to my ear and begins nibbling. I gasp at the sensation and my fingers unconsciously move up to wind themselves in his hair. I hear him grunt before he presses his body down against mine, pushing me into the mattress. His breath tickles my ear as he softly orders, "Tell me what you want."_   
_I find it difficult to speak when he resumes his ministrations on my neck. My grip in his hair tightens and I'm panting now._   
_"Please," I try to entreat again, willing the words out of my mouth. "I want…I want you to kiss me," I finally choke out._   
_"But I am already kissing you," he informs me with a chuckle. I furrow my eyebrows in agitation, knowing he's teasing me._   
_"You know what I mean," I tell him, the aggravation clear in my voice. I tug his locks for emphasis._   
_He lifts his head up to regard me, and I can see the amusement. "No, I do not know what you mean. You are going to have to clarify." Now he's just being difficult._   
_"Kiss me on the lips!" I demand. My patience is gone. Expecting him to make another remark, I open my mouth to repeat myself. I don't get a word out as he crushes his lips into mine and his tongue slips inside._   
_His tongue dominates mine, exploring every inch of my mouth. I clutch at his hair when he bites my bottom lip. The kiss is so intense that I forget to breathe, and so I pull away, my eyes closed in pure enjoyment._   
_My lips feel swollen and I'm desperately gasping for air. I feel him sit up, extricating his head from my grasp. My eyes fly open, however, when I feel him grab my legs and wrap them around his waist. I anchor my feet behind him for leverage. I can feel his erection rubbing up against the part that is utterly wet for him. I cry out as he rolls his hips against mine, rubbing the most sensitive part of my sex through my jeans. If being with him feels this good while clothed, then I want to be skin-to-skin NOW._   
_I look up and note that his eyes are closed and his face is tinted pink. His breath is coming out in faint puffs, and I can see the pleasure and concentration written all over his face. He thrusts his hips once more, eliciting a moan of sheer delight. I clasp a hand to the back of his neck, causing him to open his eyes and stare at me._   
_"Sarah," he whispers intently. He leans forward and kisses me, much more softly this time. He pulls back slightly and utters against my lips, "Моя Принцесса."_

* * *

 

I wake up gasping. My heart is pounding against my chest, and my body feels exquisitely sensitive and overcome with heat. When I shift my body, I discover a familiar wetness between my thighs. Startled, I yank the covers off of me and sit up, pressing a palm to my chest in an effort to calm my racing pulse. I can feel little beads of moisture forming on my forehead and between my breasts. Slowly, I pry my fingers away and try to make sense of what just happened.  
I just experienced a wet dream about Russia. A fucking wet dream. It was my first, and a blush comes to my face when the image of Russia's pleasure filled face fills up my mind. I grip the side of my head and try to shake the image away. No! Bad Sarah! You shouldn't be having wet dreams about a man you just met a few days ago!  
I look over to the bedside table and the digital clock reads 8:45 A.M. It's already morning. With a sigh, I get out of bed and go over to the dresser and pick out some clothing. I'm covered in sweat and I'm pretty sure I don't smell so nice. After I gather some clothing, I make my way into the adjoining bathroom. I strip out of my pajamas and step into the shower and let the warm water cascade over me. I quickly wash myself and I can't prevent the images of Russia's large hands sliding all over me, his body pressing against me...  
My face flares up and I pinch myself, once again trying to get rid of the erotic images. Once out of the shower, I dry myself off and put on my clothes. After my underwear and bra are on, I put on a pair of black jeans that hug my hips and legs nicely and with a dark grey blouse, with the sleeves ending at my elbows. I towel dry my hair and then put it up in a low hanging ponytail.  
After giving myself an once-over, I exit the bathroom and make my bed. Don't want Germany to get upset. With the room tided up, I tell myself that there is no point in stalling any longer and I exit the room.  
I can hear people talking downstairs and I hope that everyone is awake except for Russia. At the bottom of the stairs, I find that I'm correct except for one extra person; Russia. Shit. He is sitting on the couch, next to Germany, with what looks like a cup of coffee in his hand. He and Germany are having a quiet conversation to themselves and neither of them notice me.  
I'm frozen at the bottom of the stairs and I simply stare at him. Maura, who was chatting with Italy, notices me and gives me a smile and a small wave. "Good morning, Sarah!"  
Italy turns his attention on me and also greets me with a smile and a "Buongiorno Bella!"  
Germany and Russia's head turn in my direction. Germany inclines his head towards me and greets me a "Guten Morgen."  
Russia's face lights up with a smile when he sees me. It makes my heart start pounding in my chest. "Доброе утро принцесса," he greets me.  
My face heats up and I feel a shiver run down my spine. Before his voice had no effect on me but after that dream, it causes a feeling of pleasure to start pooling in my stomach.  
I see his eyes widen a bit in concern as he continues to look at me. "Are you alright?" He gets up from the couch and starts to make his way towards me. "Your face is red. Do you maybe have a fever?" the concern is evident in his voice. His hand comes up to check my forehead but before it lands on me, I back up and turn my back to face him.  
"I'm fine!" I squeak out. Not waiting for a response, I dash into the kitchen area.  
Alone in the kitchen, I grip the edge of the counter-top and try to calm my racing heart. I know I can't avoid him forever, but I seriously have no idea on how I should act around him when images of him ravishing me keep popping up in my head. What do I do?  
I feel a hand fall onto my shoulder and I jump in surprise. I glance up, seeing Maura with a concerned expression on her face. "Are you alright?" she asks me.  
I try to give her a reassuring smile, but even I can tell it's strained. "I'm fine."  
A scowl appears on her face as she crosses her arms. "I don't believe you."  
I heave a sigh. There is absolutely no point in lying to her when she'll just find out later when I eventually crack under the pressure. My face flames up in embarrassment as I try to form the words to explain. "I...had a...dream..."  
"What kind of dream?"  
I take a deep breath. "A very...erotic dream. And... Russia may... have been in it." I am expecting a sarcastic remark or maybe even a phrase for finally "becoming a women", but all I got was silence.  
I look at her and I see that she has a look of concentration on her face. She must be seriously thinking about this. "Sarah?" She starts off, "Do you have feelings for Russia?"  
Feelings? Yes, he is a very attractive man and he is really nice once you get to know him, but do I have feelings for him? I've only known him for a few days and the only things I know about him are what I gathered from watching Hetalia. Could what I am feeling right now only be the cause from the dream or was it already there? This is so confusing! I'm giving myself a headache trying to sort out all the questions I'm asking myself.  
"Look," Maura begins with a serious expression plastered on her face, "you don't have to answer now. You're a big girl and can figure out your own feelings. If you do end up having feelings for him, I will support you, but it will not stop me from worrying. I'm telling you now, I don't exactly trust him with you due to the fact that he is damaged and can be violent. However, I support you no matter your decision." A smile appears on her face and she pulls me into a hug.  
"Maura? Sarah?" We hear Italy call out to us and we both face the entryway to the kitchen and see him standing there. "Is everything alright here?" he asks us as he fully enters into the room.  
"Yes, everything is fine," Maura reassures him.  
"Oh good!" he exclaims happily and claps his hands together. "Well, I'm about to make some pasta. Would you two lovely signorine like some?"  
Pasta for breakfast? Eh, what the hell. "Yes, please!" we say in unison. He gives us a laugh and starts going around the kitchen, gathering everything he needs to make the pasta. With him busy, we exit the kitchen and head back into the living room.  
We find Germany and Russia back on the couch, but instead of talking to each other, both of them are glaring at an upset looking Prussia. Prussia is standing in front of them with his hands on his hips, glaring at the both of them, looking like he wants to hit something. Probably those two. Not understanding what is going on, we walk closer to them to hear their conversation.  
"Maybe if one of you would have told me that sooner then I wouldn't have invited him over!" Prussia yells angrily at them.  
"We had other things to worry about at the time, so you can't expect us to remember everything at the drop of a hat," Germany tries to explain to him.  
"Germany is right," Russia tells him. "However, you should know better than to invite that… thing you call a friend when there are two ladies in the house." The smile on his face grows a bit wider and a lot more strained.  
"Hey! I wasn't going to let him stay! He was just supposed to come here to meet up with me and then we were going to go out and meet Spain!"  
"Umm," I speak up and let our presence be known. All of their eyes turn to me and they all have equal looks of shocks on their faces when they notice us. They were so engrossed in their own conversation they didn't hear us come in. "Who are you guys talking about?"  
Germany heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Bruder invited France to come over."  
I tense up at the mention of France. I have been hoping that I wouldn't have to see him again for another couple months, but I had forgotten that he is friends with Prussia. France makes me very uncomfortable and I know Maura must not be too pleased about the situation either. I set my eyes on her to see if she alright, but all she does is start to stroke her chin thoughtfully with a smirk plastered on her face.  
Deciding on that I don't want to know what is going through her mind right now, I cross over to Prussia and pat his shoulder. "It's okay. I don't blame you for not knowing."  
"Aww Fräulein. You're almost as awesome as me!" His smile is back on his face and he pulls me in for a hug. "It's not you who should be apologizing to the awesome me, though," he tells me resentfully as he sends a glare towards his brother and Russia's way.  
I pull out of the hug because his hands start going down a bit too low and Russia is staring at him as if he wants to murder him. We don't need another France right now. I look over at Russia and his eyes meet mine. He pats the empty spot next to him, indicating I should sit down. I take a sit next to him and he smiles down at me. His smiling at me makes my heart rate increase and I can't prevent the heat traveling to my face. He really is a handsome man.  
Suddenly, he leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. I feel my face grow hotter. "It does not seem like you have fever, but you are warm," he says to himself. I barely hear him as I catch a whiff of evergreen from him. I can't stop myself from breathing in the smell.  
"Hey! Stop flirting with the Fräulein!" Prussia exclaims with a smirk on his face.  
Russia pulls back immediately and his face tints a light pink. It makes him look adorable. Prussia snickers at him until Maura decides to take off her sandal and throw it at him. He doesn't duck in time, so it smacks him in the face.  
He clutches his nose and cries out angrily, "AHH! Son of a b-"  
"Bruder! Watch your language!" Germany interrupts him.  
Just then, a knock comes from the front door. Germany gets up to answer the door but Maura beats him to it. She opens the door to reveal France in mid-knock. He puts his hand down and opens his mouth to say something, when he quickly shuts it. His eyes widen in recognition as he realizes who is standing in front of him.  
"Hello France," she greets with exaggerated sweetness.  
"Oh,... well,... bonjour Mademoiselle. How have you been?" he hesitantly asks.  
"Oh, I've been just fine," she says with a wide smile. It's obviously making him uncomfortable by the way he keeps shifting his body around. She steps to the side of the door and beacons with her hand. "Please, why don't you come in?"  
He hesitates, but he does come into the house. Once he is fully inside, she closes the door with a loud bang, causing France to jump in fright. He hurriedly makes his way beside Prussia. Maura makes her way to stand next to Germany, who is sending a death glare in France's direction. He puts a hand on Maura's shoulder in a protective manner. It gives the image of a father protecting his daughter from the local pervert. It's not too far off.  
The sound of someone coming into the living room causes us to turn our heads and we see Italy emerging from the kitchen. "Pasta is finished! Time to eat!" he exclaims happily at us. He notices France. "Big Brother France! I didn't know you were coming. Will you be joining us?" he asks.  
"Yes he will be," Maura answers for him; not giving him a choice in the matter.  
"Ve~ that's great! Pasta always tastes better with a lot of people," he says as he walks back into the kitchen.  
We all follow him and seat ourselves at the table and wait for Italy to serve us. The meal itself passes in relative uneasy silence, but the food itself is delicious. Italy can make a mean pasta. After the meal is finished, both Maura and I offer to help clean the kitchen but Germany waves us away saying that we are guests and we shouldn't have to clean up after everyone. With Germany and Italy in the kitchen cleaning, it just leaves the rest of us in the living room. However, Prussia and France give us a quick farewell and head out to go meet Spain. A pout appears on Maura's face when they leave, muttering something about how she wanted to mess with France some more.  
She gives Russia a side-long glance before she announces she is going to go take a "nap". Before heading upstairs, she looks at me and inclines her heads towards Russia's direction. I giver her a confused look before she sighs and leaves us alone in the room.  
With just me and Russia in the living room, it's very quiet. The only noise we hear is Italy and Germany in the kitchen cleaning. Neither of us say anything to each other and it gets a bit awkward. During the silence, my mind wanders to the conversation I had earlier with Maura. If I want to figure out my feelings for him, maybe I should start speaking to him more, so I can get a feel on what kind of person he is. With that in mind, I decide to break the ice.  
"Would you like to take a walk with me?" I ask nervously. He nods his head and we go outside.  
The weather outside is warm and sunny with a cloudless sky. A perfect time to take a stroll. Germany's house is located about eight miles from the nearest town, so there are very few neighbors and all is quiet outside. The yard is well taken care of and stretches for about half a mile long to the road. So basically our stroll is walking down the driveway.  
I nervously start to wring my hands together, not sure on how to proceed. I guess the simplest would be to ask him about his family. With something to start with, I ask him about his sisters.  
He tells me that Ukraine raised him and Belarus by herself. He told me how hard is was to survive the long winters with very little shelter and clothing, but his older sister always tried her best to make sure they had enough food to eat and enough clothing to keep them warm. They were always together and they loved each other very much.  
I asked him if Belarus was obsessed with marrying him when they were younger and he told me she wasn't always like this. It used to be that she was just clingy with him but somewhere along the line, she became obsessed with marrying him. I asked why and he said it was because she didn't want him to be lonely. Although her intentions were good, she more or less went about it the wrong way. He told me he loves his sisters, but sometimes he wishes that Belarus would learn to back off and Ukraine would learn to stick up for herself and to stop defending her sister's negative actions.  
"Enough about me. What is your family like? Any siblings?" he asks curiously.  
I shake my head. "Only child," I say. "The only living relative I have is my grandmother."  
"Oh, I see. May I ask what happened to your parents?"  
"My father committed suicide when I was three years old." His eyes widen when he hears that and I quickly finish explaining to him that he was taking anti-depressants and drinking at the same time, so it made his mind act up and he made a mistake while handling a gun. "I know it still sounds bad but he wasn't intending on dying."  
"Well, it is still horrible," he tells me. "What about your mother?"  
I don't answer immediately. My mother was the closest person to me besides Maura and her death upsets me more than my father's, since I never really knew him. When it comes to my mother, it's a bit hard to form the words. I feel an overwhelming sadness take over me as I think of her and I have to close my eyes tightly to prevent the tears that want to fall. I take a deep breath before answering. "She died from breast cancer about a year ago," I finally tell him. My voice comes out sounding cracked and strained.  
He doesn't say anything. My eyes are still closed and I'm trying to squeeze them shut tighter, trying to keep the tears from falling but a few escape. I turn my body away from him, not wanting him to see, but I feel him grab my arm, forcing me to turn back towards him.  
My eyes open wide when he pulls me into an embrace. His arms wrap around me and he holds me tightly to his chest. My arms automatically wrap themselves around him and I cling to him. My face heats up in embarrassment at the fact that I'm crying and that Russia is holding me.  
We stay like this for a while before we pull away from each other. He looks at me with a sorrowful expression as he wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. "I am sorry about what has happened to you," he tells me softly. "Someone as kind and beautiful as you shouldn't have to go through that."  
My face heats up even more and my heart skips a beat at his compliment. "Th-thank you," I stammer out.  
A smile appears on his face as holds out his hand. "I think we should go back inside before everyone starts wondering where we are."  
I take a hold of his outstretched hand and nod my head in agreement. I let him lead me back to the house and we are still holding hands when we walk inside. My hand feels small in his large one and I can't help but feel a sense of happiness as his grip tightens on mine. Maura is sitting on the couch between Germany and Italy. She looks towards us when we walk in and her eyes immediately lock onto our hands. She looks at me with raised eyebrows.  
He lets go of my hand as he moves to go speak quietly to Germany. Maura gets up and comes to stand next to me and leans in to whisper, "Holding hands, I see."  
I nod my head as a smile appears on my face. "Yes," I whisper back. I hesitate before I speak again. "Maura I-"  
"You don't have to say anything to me," she tells me as she takes my hand in hers and squeezes it. "I think I already know."  
I squeeze her hand back and look over towards Russia. His back is facing me, but as if he can feel me looking at him, he turns his body turns to me and he gives me a soft smile. My heart starts skipping beats again as I give a small smile back. I still don't know much about him, but regardless, I think I may be falling for him.


End file.
